;-NRLF 


14  32fl  ISfl 


MERRY'S  BOOK 


TALES    AND    STOKIES. 


EDITED    BY 

UNCLE    MERRY. 


NEW-YORK: 
H.   DAYTON,   No.    36    HOWARD   STREET. 

INDIANAPOLIS,  IND.  :    ASHER  &  CO. 
1860. 


Univ.  Libraiy,  DC  Santa  Croz  1999 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

H.    DAYTON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York 


J.  J.  Rsun,  PRINTER  &.  STERKOTVPEH, 
43  &  45  Centre  Street, 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

The  Birth-Day  Party, 18 

Coming  Through  the  Hay, 24 

Pic-Nics, 29 

The  Bright  Shilling, 37 

Robin  Hood, 42 

How  Edward  Sharp  Got  Cured  of  his  Faults, 49 

The  Yellow  Rose, ,...  52 

The  Lost  Puzzle, 63 

The  Sleigh  Ride, 70 

An  Adventure, » 83 

The  Three  Wishes, 86 

The  Courtship  of  the  Stork-Cailif, 98 

The  New  Skates, 123 

Little  Alice,  a  Story  for  Christmas, 132 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas, 137 

The  Legend  of  King  Robert  of  Sicily, 139 

The  Sailor  Youth,   152 

The  Little  Sailor  Boy,. 170 

An  Exquisite  Story  by  Lamartine fc 177 

Woolsey  Bridge  ;  or  the  Boy  Bachelor, 180 

Tale  of  the  Three  Spinners, , 215 

Somebody  not  pleased  with  His  Name, 221 

Turkish  Titles 233 

The  Old  English  Village  Pastor, 234 

A  Warning, 239 


PAQK 

Frontispiece, 2 

The  Birth-Day  Party, 13 

Flowers, 19 

A  Frolic  in  the  Fields, 25 

ThePic-Nic, 29 

The  Vine  Arbor, 31 

The  Swing, 33 

The  May  Queen, , 35 

The  Dolls, 38 

Telling  the  Story, 40 

Child  Amidst  the  Flowers  at  Play, 41 

Robin  Hood  and  Little  John, 43 

How  Edward  Sharp  Got  Cured  of  His  Faults, 51 

Gardening,. 53 

Among  the  Roses, 61 

The  Orator, 87 

The  Stork, 104 

The  Ruins, Ill 

The  Owl, 113 

The  Pleasures  of  Winter, 123 

The  Christmas  Tree, 132 

The  Village  Church, 152 

The  Pilot, 170 

The  Ocean, 172 

A  Storm  at  Sea, 174 

The  Crags, 176 


Till  ENGRAVINGS. 

MM 

The  Stranded  Ship, , 176 

An  Exquisite  Story  by  Lamartine, 178 

Woolsey  House, 180 

Going  to  School, 183 

Leaving  Home, 192 

The  Monks, 197 

Tale  of  the  Three  Spinners, 216 

Spinning, 219 

The  Spinning  Wheel, 220 

The  Village  Pastor, 234 

The  Pastor  Listening  to  the  News, 237 

Lizzie  in  the  Garden, . .  .238 


PREFACE. 


is  stranger  than  fiction."  And  true  stories 
JL  if  well  told,  are  not  only  better  and  more  in- 
structive, but  more  entertaining  than  fictitious  ones. 
We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  the  stories  in  this 
volume  are  true  in  all  their  details  ;  but  they  are  true 
in  this,  that  they  speak  truly  of  the  habits  and  feelings 
of  children  and  youth,  and  illustrate  truly  the  tempta- 
tions and  dangers  to  which  they  are  exposed,  and  the 
duties  they  are  required  to  perform,  or  they  relate  some 
interesting  fact  in  natural  history.  We  think  that  no 
story  can  be  truly  amusing  even  which  has  not  some 
good  lesson  in  it — which  does  not  justly  represent  some 
peculiar  aspect  of  our  life,  some  trait  of  character,  some 
natural  incident  of  human  history,  or  some  fact  in  the 
history  and  habits  of  the  animal  creation.  We  are 
quite  sure  that  our  young  friends  will  agree  with  us  in 
this  ;  and  that  any  of  them  would  much  prefer  a  plain 
tale  of  truth  to  the  most  glowing  pictures  of  fairies  and 


X  PREFACE. 

they  have  seen,  without  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
visiting  them  in  person.  This  is  a  very  profitable  and 
interesting  kind  of  reading,  and  one  that  never  tires. 
It  affords  a  great  variety  of  information  and  pleasure. 
We  learn  geography  from  the  description  of  the  coun- 
tries, and  the  seas,  the  rivers,  the  lakes,  and  the  moun- 
tains, which  the  traveler  explores.  We  learn  history 
from  his  accounts  of  the  country  and  its  people — na- 
tural history  from  his  description  of  the  animals,  birds, 
&c. — botany  from  his  account  of  the  trees,  and  plants, 
and  flowers,  and  so  on — adding  to  all  our  stores  of 
knowledge,  in  proportion  as  our  traveler  is  particular 
and  accurate  in  describing  all  he  sees.  Travels,  voy- 
ages, and  adventures,  are  always  found  to  be  interest- 
ing and  acceptable  to  the  young.  We  trust  they  will 
be  pleased  with  what  we  have  given  them  here.  We 
know  with  what  great  delight  and  profit  the  whole 
Merry  family  followed  Peter  Parley  in  his  "  Balloon 
Travels,"  visiting  some  of  the  most  prominent  and  in- 
teresting places  in  the  world,  and  becoming  acquainted 
with  a  great  many  things  they  had  never  heard  of  be- 
fore. And  we  know  how  sorry  they  were  when  the 
travels  came  to  an  end.  We  have  often  wished  we 
had  a  balloon  of  our  own,  that  we  might  take  them  all 
out  on  another  excursion  in  some  of  the  unvisited  re- 


PREFACE.  XI 

gions  of  the  earth.  As  soon  as  we  can  find  one  that 
can  be  safely  trusted  to  carry  so  large  and  precious  a 
family,  we  shall  send  out  our  invitations  far  and  wide, 
and  a  glorious  time  we  will  have.  Till  then,  we  shall 
do  all  we  can  to  supply  the  place  of  a  personal  visit,  by 
giving  the  best  that  we  can  find  of  the  travels  and  voy- 
ages of  others — that  is  to  say,  those  best  adapted  to  the 
tastes  and  capacities  of  young  persons. 

And  now,  a  word  of  advice,  in  reading  travels  and 
voyages.  Always  endeavor  to  put  yourself  in  the  place 
of  the  traveler.  Make  yourself  fully  acquainted  with 
his  descriptions,  so  that  you  can  bring  distinctly  before 
your  mind  the  places  he  visits.  Take  your  maps,  and 
trace  out  his  course,  and  find  all  the  places  he  men- 
tions. Recollect  all  you  have  ever  read  about  them 
before.  Imagine  yourself  in  the  place  of  the  writer  ; 
enter  into  his  feelings,  and  then  you  will  be  prepared 
to  understand  all  he  says,  to  remember  it,  and  profit  by 
it.  And  then  too  you  will  derive  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure  from  all  that  he  is  disposed  to  tell  you.  This 
is  particularly  necessary  in  the  reading  of  personal 
adventures,  feats  of  daring  and  danger,  hair-breadth 
escapes,  &c.  It  is  impossible  fully  to  understand  and 
appreciate  them,  without,  for  the  time  we  are  reading 
them,  putting  ourselves,  as  it  were,  in  the  place  of  him 
who  writes  or  relates  them. 


• 


of  Salts  rah 


THE    BIRTFT-DAY   PARTY, 


FAR  from  the  city  and  the  "  busy  haunts  of  men," 
in  the  little  village  of  B ,  lived  Annie  Cam- 
eron, a  blithe,  gay  child,  who  had  never  as  yet 
known  sorrow,  or  shed  a  tear  for  aught  else  than 
perchance  for  the  committal  of  some  slight  fault,  or 
over  the  death  of  some  antiquated  pet.  She  with 
her  mother  lived  in  a  rose-embowered  cottage,  where 


14  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

the  brilliant  humming-bird  ever  was  welcome,  and 
where  the  summer  breezes  gently  shook  the  leaves 
or  played  with  Annie's  long  curling  hair,  and  any 
one  that  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time  when  I  did, 
would  have  thought  that  the  wind  used  it  as  a  play- 
thing pretty  often. 

She  had  been  out  with  a  party  of  little  friends 
gathering  strawberries,  and  many  a  stain  here  and 
there  betrayed  her  occupation,  her  cheeks  doing  their 
best  to  rival  the  rich  color  of  the  fruit.  Her  dress 
was  caught  up,  not  ungracefully,  but  certainly  un- 
knowingly, by  a  piece  of  briar- rose  which  had  clung 
to  her  during  her  ramble.  Her  long  curls  were 
blown  back  from  her  face  in  wild  confusion,  while  a 
wreath  of  field  flowers,  strung  together  with  the 
united  taste  of  the  strawberry  party,  held  her  hair 
in  unwilling  bondage. 

I  had  arrived  at  B that  afternoon  on  a  visit 

to  my  mother's  old  friend,  Mrs.  Cameron,  and  I  had 
been  listening  to  a  parent's  description  of  her  only 
child  just  as  the  door  flew  open,  and  in  rushed  the 
whole  flock  eager  to  tell  of  their  frolic  and  adven- 
tures. All  stopped  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger  except 
Annie,  who  sprang  forward  to  her  mother,  throwing 
a  large  bouquet  into  her  lap,  and  then  turning  to  me 
said,  "  I  suppose  as  you  are  mamma's  friend,  you 
are  mine,  too,  are  you  not  ?"  and  a  smiling  assent 
soon  made  us  as  familiar  as  old  acquaintances. 

Annie  introduced  many  of  her  little  companions 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  15 

to  me,  and  I  was  soon  in  earnest  conversation  with 
Lizzie  and  Herbert  Gray,  Julia  Lunt,  James  Ward, 
and  I  do  not  know  how  many  others,  each  anxious 
to  tell  of  the  afternoon's  fun  in  his  own  words. 
Lizzie  Gray  said  she  knew  where  all  the  finest  straw- 
berries that  her  brother  had  picked  were  to  be  found, 
and  she  laughingly  pointed  to  a  little  basket  made' 
of  oak  leaves,  well  filled  with  the  largest  and  reddest 
wood-strawberries  I  have  ever  seen.  The  basket 
bore  on  it  the  name  of  Annie,  pricked  in  the  leaves 
with  a  pin,  and  she  soon  claimed  her  property. 

The  little  party  now  separated,  and  we  were  left 
to  ourselves.  Tea  was  served,  and  Annie  seating 
herself  at  the  head  of  the  table,  presided  as  demure- 
ly as  an  old  housekeeper,  and  when  we  had  left  the 
table  and  drawn  to  the  window  to  watch  the  glow- 
ing sunset,  she  rang  the  bell,  and  the  neat  maid- 
servant brought  her  in  a  little  tub,  mop,  and  nap- 
kin, with  which  she  carefully  washed  and  wiped  the 
silver  tea-set,  and  put  it  carefully  away — not  till 
then  did  she  join  us  at  the  window. 

Mrs.  Cameron  and  I  talked  about  old  times,  and 
she  told  me  of  her  intimacy  with  my  mother  when  a 
girl.  She  told  me  of  their  studies  and  pleasures,  of 
their  duties  and  amusements  ;  her  mother  combined 
the  useful  with  the  agreeable  in  the  education  of  her 
children,  and  rigidly  insisted  upon  duty  before 
pleasure.  She  thought  that  "  all  work  and  no 
play,"  and  "  all  play  and  no  work,"  were  equally 


16  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

wrong,  and  would  surely  "  make  Jack  a  dull  boy." 
Among  others  of  her  childish  pleasures,  Mrs.  Came- 
ron mentioned  a  little  party  her  mother  once  gave, 
in  which  all  her  young  friends  were  dressed  in  the 
costume  of  some  country,  each  character  telling 
something  of  her  presumed  home,  of  its  situation, 
climate,  habits,  &c.,  thus  giving  a  series  of  geo- 
graphical lessons,  at  the  same  time  instructive  and 
amusing.  We  were  highly  entertained  by  Mrs. 
Cameron's  account,  and  Annie  said,  "  Oh  !  mamma, 
why  not  let  rne  have  a  little  party  on  my  birth-day, 
and  let  us  dress  in  costume,  too,  it  will  be  so  new 
and  interesting  to  us  all,  and  you  know  next  week 
vacation  begins,  so  that  it  shall  not  interfere  with 
our  lessons  ;  I  will  not  even  mention  it  till  then,  and 
oh,  what  fun  we  should  have  !  Minnie,  plead  with 
and  for  me,  won't  you  ?"  Who  can  resist  a  request 
from  an  only  child,  when  the  request  is  reasonable 
and  proper,  and  when  the  bright  eyes  and  happy 
face  of  that  only  child  are  looking  so  earnestly  into 
yours  ?  Not  Mrs.  Cameron  certainly,  for  though 
like  her  mother  rigid  in  enforcing  duty,  she  likewise 
delighted  in  giving  pleasure. 

The  assent  was  given,  and  Annie  performed  a  pi- 
rouette, which  soon  brought  her  panting  to  her  seat. 
"  Annie,"  said  h<  r  mother,  "  I  have  several  condi- 
tions to  make  as  regards  this  little  party.  1st. 
Nothing  new  shall  be  bought  for  any  dress.  I  do 
not  like  useless  or  frivolous  expense.  2dly.  Your 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  17 

characters  shall  all  be  kept  secret,  and  I  will  have 
you  announced  as  you  enter  the  room.  3dly.  The 
party  shall  commence  and  close  early.  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  reproached  by  heavy  eyes  and  aching 
heads  on  the  morrow.  4thly.  Your  birth-day  comes 
on  Saturday,  and  as  I  do  not  wish  to  have  your 
Sunday's  duties  mingled  with  the  thoughts  of  your 
pleasure,  we  will  postpone  the  party  until  the  fol- 
lowing Tuesday.  Now  to  bed,  and  sleep  soundly." 
And  with  a  good-night  kiss  was  Annie  off  to  dream 
of  strawberry  parties  and  birth-day  parties  until 
morning. 

The  few  days  before  vacation  flew  rapidly  by,  and 
studying  hard  and  sewing  more  industriously  than 
ever,  the  promised  pleasure  only  made  her  the  more 
desirous  of  deserving  it,  and  her  lips  conned  their 
lessons,  and  her  needle  flew  in  and  out,  taking  rapid 
but  small  stitches. 

Vacation  came,  and  the  very  day  it  began,  Annie 
and  I  wrote  about  thirty  invitations,  in  which  all 
the  parents  of  the  invited  children  were  begged  to 
be  present,  and  soon  Annie's  birth-day  party  was 
the  talk  and  anticipation  of  the  village.  The 
young  people  met  but  little  during  the  week  of  pre- 
paration. Youthful  faces  were  full  of  bright 
thought,  and  little  fingers  were  busy  in  shaping  and 
sewing.  Dark  closets  were  ransacked,  and  old-fash- 
ioned garments  again  saw  the  light.  In  the  search, 
missing  and  lost  articles  were  found,  and  everything 


18  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

was  dragged  out,  and  scanned,  and  discussed,  and 
ingenuity  was  taxed  to  turn  every  thing  to  account 
for  the  eventful  day. 

Mrs.  Cameron,  Annie,  and  I,  worked  like  beavers. 
Herbert  Gray  came  several  times  during  the  week, 
and  he  and  Annie  had  evidently  some  plan  together 
of  which  I  knew  nothing,  nor  could  I  learn  any- 
thing. I  asked  but  once,  and  for  answer  received  a 
roguish  laugh  from  Annie,  as  she  tantalized  me  with 
my  ignorance.  Mrs.  Cameron  was,  however,  soon 
admitted  to  be  one  in  the  secret,  for  unless  her 
mother  was  consulted,  Annie  would  not  think  any 
plan  good,  or  likely  to  succeed. 

The  evening  came.  Mrs.  Cameron  and  I  lighted 
the  lamps  and  candles,  wiped  away  every  stray 
grain  of  dust,  arranged  garden  flowers  in  the  parlor, 
and  field  flowers  on  the  supper  table.  We  then 
gave  one  last  look  at  Annie  as  she  stood  ready  dress- 
ed for  her  first  party,  and  then  went  down  to  receive 
the  company,  for  we  already  heard  voices  in  the  hall. 

The  parents  all  arrived  first  as  requested,  in  order 
that  even  the  first  comers  might  find  spectators 
awaiting  them. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed,  and  then,  after  sev- 
eral rings  at  the  door-bell,  a  smothered  laugh,  and 
a  good  deal  of  ohing  and  ahing,  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  one  by  one,  as  they  were  announced,  in 
came  the  expected  characters. 

A  graceful  figure,  draped  in  black  gauze,  entered 


TALES    AND    STORIES. 


19 


the  door.  Her  head  was  covered  with  a  long  veil 
spangled  with  silver  stars,  and  a  crescent  moon 
formed  the  front  of  the  crown  which  encircled  her 
brow.  Upon  one  shoulder  sparkled  a  diamond  star, 
with  a  silver  anchor  beneath  it.  On  the  other,  be- 
neath gauzy  pink  clouds,  shone  an  equally  liquid 
star.  All  this  I  saw  at  a  glance,  as  the  figure  mov- 
ed sedately  across  the  room  :  and  I  knew  that  the 
dark-eyed  Lizzie  Gray  personated  "  Night."  I 


knew  that  the  manner's  hope  and  guide  the  "North 
Star,"  and  Venus,  the  "Evening  Star,"  shone  in 
bright  rivalry  on  her  shoulders. 


20  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

After  her,  in  rapid  succession,  came  a  flower-girl 
presenting  a  fragrant  bouquet  to  all ;  a  gleaner  with 
an  apron-full  of  wheat ;  and  a  sailor-boy,  who 
looked  as  ruddy  as  an  old  sea-captain.  We  waited 
a  moment,  and  then  the  door  opened  again,  and  a 
voice,  which  I  knew  to  be  that  of  James  Ward, 
announced  "an  indigent  individual  who  received  no 
invitation,  Holla  Gray,  Esq.  ;"  and  in  walked  the 
great  Newfoundland  on  his  hind  legs,  with  a  white 
cap  and  apron  on,  looking  the  cook  to  perfection. 
We  had  a  hearty  laugh  at  his  appearance,  and  dis- 
missed him  to  his  proper  place,  the  kitchen,  where 
due  attention  was  paid  to  his  appetite.  Visitors 
were  now  constantly  arriving,  and  many  and  various 
were  the  costumes  ;  but  not  to  make  my  stoiy  too 
long,  I  will  only  tell  of  the  most  striking. 

Julia  Lunt,  with  powdered  hair  and  a  rich  bro- 
cade dress,  high-heeled  shoes,  a  short  waist,  a  long 
train,  and  one  or  two  little  black  patches  upon  her 
face,  made  an  excellent  and  graceful  court  beauty. 
Ellen  Morris  was  a  tiny  Ked  Hiding  Hood,  with  a 
most  tempting  display  of  cheese-cakes,  and  a  little  pat 
of  butter,  which  she  had  herself  churned  for  Mrs. 
Cameron.  The  announcing  of  "  The  Spoiled  Child" 
attracted  our  attention,  and  James  Ward  came  in. 
His  hair  was  in  twenty  snarls,  his  face  was  streaked 
with  dirt,  and  his  eyes  red  with  apparent  weeping. 
He  had  a  half-eaten  apple  in  one  hand,  and  a  stick 
of  candy  in  the  other.  Behind  him  came  his  nurse 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  21 

(Ellen  Ward)  trying  to  coax  him  to  be  dressed  ;  and 
soon  after  his  mother  (Laura  Lunt),  alarmed  by  his 
angry  cries,  came  running  in  with  the  sugar-bowl. 
Nothing,  however,  would  do  :  he  would  neither  be 
appeased  or  dressed  ;  and  finally,  in  a  paroxism  of 
passion,  was  taken  out  of  the  room,  and  did  not  re- 
turn as  «  The  Spoiled  Child." 

This  little  scene  amused  us  very  much :  but  I 
thought  there  were  one  or  two  mothers  who  looked 
rather  conscious,  and  they  must  have  learned  a  les- 
son that  evening.  When  James  came  back,  little 
Ellen  jumped  up,  and  began — "  Fy  ! 

"  Not  wish  to  be  washed ! 
Not  wish  to  be  clean ! 
But  rather  go  dirty ! 
Not  fit  to  be  seen!" 

Which  sent  James,  apparently  overcome  with  shame, 
into  a  corner. 

I  was  beginning  to  wonder  where  Annie  could  be, 
and  was  upon  the  point  of  asking  for  her,  when  a 
voice,  weak  from  age,  but  very  sweet,  was  heard 
singing  :— 

"  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man 
"Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door, 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span, 
Oh  !  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store." 

We  all  ran  to  the  window,  and  throwing  open  the 
blinds,  saw  standing  in  the  moonlight  an  old  man 
bent  with  age,  his  gray  head  uncovered,  and  his  tot- 


22  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

tering  form  supported  by  a  little  girl,  whose  tatter- 
ed, though  clean  dress,  and  smoothed  hair  bespoke 
at  once  her  poverty,  and  a  desire  to  make  the  best 
of  her  little  all. 

The  two,  seeing  the  sympathizing  looks  of  all, 
now  approached  the  window,  and  on  Mrs.  Cameron's 
asking  them  if  they  did  not  sing  together,  they  be- 
gan the  following  : — 

Oh  ladies  bright  and  fair, 
Of  gentle  mien  and  air, 
Who  know  nor  grief  nor  care, 

Take  pity ! 

We  ask  but  a  slight  gift, 
Oh  give  a  helping  lift, 
Down  Sorrow's  stream  we  drift, 

Oh  hear  our  dity ! 

'Tis  good  from  your  full  measure 
Of  fortune  and  of  treasure, 
To  give  relief  and  pleasure 

To  the  poor ! 

Then  list  unto  our  prayer, 
Some  answer  through  the  air, 
Will  mount  to  realms  more  fair, 

Be  sure ! 

The  blended  voices  ceased  ;  and  all  hearts  were 
touched,  and  purses  opened,  and  many  were  the 
bright  pieces  that  found  their  way  into  the  box 
passed  round  by  the  little  girl. 

We  counted  the  money  ;  there  were  three  dollars 
and  forty-two  cents  !  The  grateful  singers  bowed 
low,  and  methought,  as  they  gave  thanks,  the  old 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  23 

man's  form  looked  less  bent,  his  eye  more  piercing. 
Methought  the  little  girl  looked  more  gay,  and — I 
started — was  I  mistaken?  No!  for,  throwing 
away  false  hair,  rags,  staff,  and  all  but  the  money 
box,  the  beggars  (Herbert  Gray  and  Annie  Cameron) 
stood  revealed  in  Scotch  costume.  Nothing  was 
wanting,  the  tartan  and  the  plaid,  the  heron  plume 
and  the  maiden  snood,  Scotland's  thistle  and  the 
kilt — all  were  there  ;  and  the  bright  and  happy 
couple  were  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  evening. 

All  were  now  assembled  ;  and  gaily  flew  the 
hours,  dancing,  singing,  and  music  all  lent  their 
aid.  The  supper  table  was  loaded  with  the  good 
things  of  this  world,  and  the  jellies  and  candied 
fruits,  cakes,  and  ices,  all  spoke  of  Mrs.  Cameron's 
housely  hand.  Every  thing  had  been  made  at  home. 

The  mammoth  bouquet  in  the  middle  of  the 
table  was  the  offering  of  the  poor  children  of  the 
village,  who,  on  the  next  day,  all  received  some  of 
the  evening's  entertainment. 

The  money  collected  was  bestowed  upon  a  suffer- 
ing and  needy  woman,  whom  Mrs.  Cameron  well 
knew  as  a  hard-working  and  worthy  object  for  relief, 
and  more  than  the  mere  partakers  in  it  enjoyed  the 
remembrance  of  Annie  Cameron's  birth-day  party. 


24  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


"  COMING  THROUGH  THE  HAY/' 


HARLIE  and  the  boys  had  been  doing 
their  utmost  to  finish  the  job,  and  get 
in  all  the  hay  before  dark,  as  they  were 
to  have  the  next  day  for  holiday.  The  mea- 
dow was  well-nigh  cleared.  One  or  two  loads 
more  would  take  it  all,  and  yet  the  sun  was  a  full 
hour  high. 

"  We'll  do  it,  Charlie,"  said  William  to  his  bro- 
ther, "  and  have  ample  time  to  get  all  our  fixing 
ready  this  evening." 

"  You  may  as  well  say  it  is  done  already,"  replied 
Charles,  "  for  there  is  time  enough,  and  a  will.  So 
we  will  have  to-morrow  for  a  party  to  the  Lake." 

"  That  we  will,"  cried  Fanny,  rushing  out  from 
behind  the  great  tree,  where  she  had  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  learn  what  her  cousins  were  so  earnestly 
talking  about,  as  they  stopped  in  their  work  and 
leaned  upon  their  rakes  for  a  single  moment — 
"  That  we  will,  Coz,  and  Mary,  and  Lucy,  and  two 
or  three  more  of  the  girls,  will  be  here  soon  to  have 
a  little  consultation  about  the  matter." 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


25 


"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Charles,  keeping  steadily  at 
work  while  he  talked,  "you  will  only  hinder  our 
work,  so  that  we  shall  not  finish  it  up  to-night,  and 
so  shall  not  be  able  to  go  at  all." 

"  So  ho  I"  exclaimed  Fan,  with  a  wild,  musical 


laugh,  that  was  peculiar  to  her,  "  if  we  hinder  you 
a  bit,  we  will  help  you  more.  We  will  turn  to, 
all  of  us,  and  toss,  rake,  or  pitch  ;  and  if  we  three 


26  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

girls  don't  beat  any  three  of  you  boys,  we  will  pay 
the  forfeit,  that's  all." 

Mary  and  Lucy  now  came  up,  with  two  or  three 
more  of  the  same  sort. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  wagons  returned  from 
the  barn,  and  the  boys  were  all  on  the  ground. 
Discussion  ran  high.  There  was  no  moderator,  no 
rules  of  debate.  Two,  three,  and  four  would  speak 
at  the  same  time,  while  laughter  and  joke  filled  up 
all  the  gaps. 

After  a  time  William  succeeded  in  getting  some- 
thing like  order,  so  as  to  be  heard.  The  plan  was 
all  laid  out,  and  a  part  in  the  arrangements  assigned 
to  each  one,  to  which  each  and  all  assented.  There 
were  lots  of  things  to  be  done.  Cakes,  and  pies,  and 
fruits,  and  all  the  et  cetera,  were  to  be  got  ready. 

"It  will  be  midnight  before  we  get  through  with 
all  these  preparations/'  said  Charles.  "Now  hurry 
away,  all  of  you,  and  let  us  get  in  the  rest  of  the 
hay." 

"  We'll  have  a  bit  of  dance  first,"  said  Fanny, 
with  a  mischievous  laugh.  "  Here,  George,  out 
with  your  flageolet,  and  blow  away  briskly.  We 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  she  seized  Charles 
by  the  hand,  threw  down  his  rake,  and  drew  him 
under  the  shade  of  the  great  tree. 

"  So  be  it,"  cried  two  or  three  of  the  boys,  and 
choosing  each  his  partner,  soon  filled  up  the  set. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  27 

Merrily,  merrily  they  tripped  the  light  fantastic, 
as  if  there  were  no  work  to  be  done,  no  preparations 
for  the  morrow  to  be  made.  "  Begone,  dull  care/' 
seemed  to  smile  on  every  face,  and  speak  from  every 
eye.  Meanwhile,  some  who  did  not  dance  did  some- 
thing else — made  love  under  the  trees,  as  Ben  and 
Susy  are  doing,  or  looked  on  with  downright  sym- 
pathy on  the  fun,  but  with  a  grave  wish  that  the 
hay  was  in,  .as  Jerry,  that  old  fellow  on  the  left,  is 
doing,  and  with  a  sober  thought  of  the  cakes  and 
pies,  as  prudent  Charlotte  is  doing  on  the  right. 

Well,  the  dance  came  to  an  end,  and  the  day  was 
coming  to  an  end  too,  and  Charlie  and  William 
sprang  to  their  rakes. 

"Come,  boys,  now  set  to  with  a  will,"  exclaimed 
old  Jerry.  "  Only  twenty  minutes  to  sundown,  and 
two  good  loads  to  get  in  yet." 

Where  there's  a  will,  there's  a  way.  Oh  !  what 
marvels  of  work  were  done  in  those  twenty  minutes  I 
There  was  a  will  in  the  work,  and  all  worked  to  that 
one  will.  The  girls  took  hold,  as  if  they  knew  how. 
They  raked  the  hay  in  heaps,  they  carried  it  in  their 
arms,  for  want  of  forks,  and  then  they  mounted  the 
wagons,  and  spread  and  pressed  the  hay,  in  the  best 
possible  style.  They  worked  like  men,  as  Jerry 
said,  evidently  intending  a  first-rate  compliment. 
But  Fanny  repudiated  the  comparison,  as  unworthy 
of  her  sex.  •  The  women,  she  said,  could  and  would 
always  beat  the  men,  at  any  work  they  might  under- 


28 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


take.  She  therefore  claimed  that  they  worked  like 
girls,  and  that  was  enough.  Jerry  yielded  the  point 
very  gracefully,  and  declared  he  would  like  to  hire  a 
dozen  such  hands  to  help  him,  at  the  next  haying. 
Fan  offered  her  services,  and  those  of  Susy  and 
Mary,  free  gratis  for  nothing,  and  begged  he  would 
give  them  one  day's  notice,  when  he  wanted  them. 
When  the  sun  went  dowp,  the  last  load  of  hay 
was  stowed  away  in  the  loft,  and  the  boys  were 
leading  the  horses  to  the  brook. 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


29 


PICNICS. 


JUNE  is  the  very  season  for  Picnics.  Everywhere 
men,  women  and  children,  are  planning  and  exe- 
cuting excursions.  Strawberries,  cream,  nuts,  crack- 
ers, cakes,  lemons,  ice,  and  all  the  et  ceteras  of  good 
eating,  are  in  pressing  demand.  Baskets,  boxes  and 
bags  are  enjoying  unwonted  popularity.  Omnibuses, 
with  feathers  and  flags  for  the  horses  ;  steamboats 
with  streamers,  and  wagons,  carts,  and  nondescript 
vehicles  of  every  form  and  size,  are  up  for  daily  char- 
ter, and  active  competition  ;  and  groves,  orchards, 


30  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

dells,  glens  and  copses  are  sedulously  explored,  sur- 
veyed and  discussed,  as  if  millions  were  about  to  be 
staked  in  hopeful  speculation.  Then,  as  to  lawns, 
laces,  tissues,  muslins,  ribbons,  flowers,  jewels,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing  ;  time  and  words  would  fail, 
should  we  essay  to  speak  of  them.  But  of  the  hu- 
manities of  the  scene  we  may  speak  freely  and  know- 
ingly. Of  these  there  are,  as  usual,  every  variety, 
from  the  octogenarian  to  the  infant  of  days,  white 
heads,  gray  heads/  black  heads,  brown  heads,  red 
heads,  auburn  heads,  yellow  heads,  straw  heads, 
round  heads,  flat  heads,  long  heads  and  all  sorts  and 
sizes  of  heads.  There  is  beauty  and  its  opposites  of 
all  degrees  and  shades.  There  are  simplicity  and 
affectation,  pride  and  grace,  wisdom  and  folly,  fun 
and  pleasure,  and  all  the  countless  phases  and  forms 
of  character  and  condition,  all  huddled  and  jostled 
together,  like  the  shines  and  shades  in  a  kaleidescope, 
and  producing,  to  the  observant  eye,  just  such  phan- 
tasmagorean  shapes  and  changes.  It  would  be  a 
study  for  a  philosopher.  But,  being  no  philosopher, 
I  will  let  that  pass,  and  attend  to  the  more  palpable 
and  material  part  of  the  scene,  the  outside  enjoyment, 
which  is  all  that  I  can  reach  at  present. 

"  The  Grove"  is  a  little  paradise  of  a  place,  ana 
is  now  in  its  best  possible  condition.  The  trees  are 
in  all  the  leafy  freshness  and  blossom  of  June.  The 
grass,  over  which  the  scythe  was  passed  a  few  days 
ago,  is  starting  into  new  life,  as  soft  and  smooth  as 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


31 


a  carpet  of  velvet.  The  walks  are  all  clean,  as  if 
swept  this  morning  for  the  occasion.  The  arbors 
and  rustic  seats  are  gay  with  vines  and  flowers. 


THE   VINE    ARBOR. 

The  hirds  are  full  of  song  and  sweetness,  and  wholly 
unable  to  repress  their  exuberant  joy,  in  view  of  the 
rich  repast  of  crumbs  of  which  they  are  evidently 
expectant,  and  which  they  seem  perfectly  willing  to 
pay  for  beforehand,  by  notes  which  require  no  endor- 
sing, and  which  are  always  and  everywhere  current. 
The  sky  is  clear  and  cloudless,  though  for  the  most 
part  hidden  from  view  by  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  the 


32  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

grove.  The  air  is  as  delicious  as  the  cool  sea  from 
which  it  comes,  and  the  gardens  of  roses  and  acres 
of  honeysuckles,  over  which  it  has  passed,  can  make 
it.  The  company  assembled  are  all  pleased  with 
themselves,  with  each  other,  with  the  day,  the  grove, 
and  the  occasion,  and  nothing  seems  wanting  to  com- 
plete their  enjoyment. 

In  a  sweet  little  dell,  overhung  with  heavy  and 
fragrant  foliage,  a  long  low  table  has  been  placed. 
It  is  loaded  with  all  the  luxuries,  and  many  of  the 
substantials  of  the  season,  and  arranged  with  exqui- 
site taste  by  hands  formed  only  for  the  graceful  and 
beautiful.  Flowers  and  greens  are  sweetly  inter- 
spersed with  fruits  and  other  dainties,  and  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  tell  whether  the  eye,  the  smell,  or  the  taste, 
are  most  to  be  regaled. 

While  this  is  being  prepared,  let  us  walk  over  the 
grounds  and  witness  the  various  kinds  of  enjoyments 
which,  in  this  simple  way,  are  provided  for  so  many. 
Here  is  a  group  of  gay  children  playing  at  graces. 
Their  hats  are  carefully  tied  up  in  the  branches  of 
the  young  saplings  that  nestle  under  the  shadows  of 
the  larger  trees.  The  many-colored  hoops  fly  back 
and  forth  with  a  beautiful  motion,  and  the  attitude 
and  action  of  the  young  performers  are  exceedingly 
graceful,  picturesque,  and  well  entitle  this  sport  to 
the  name  by  which  it  is  called.  Here  we  come  to  a 
party  Of  boys  playing  ball ;  this  open  ground,  outside 
the  grove,  is  just  the  place  for  it,  and  the  sport  is 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


33 


active,  manly,  and  full  of  spirit,  just  adapted  to  de- 
velop a  quick  eye,  a  ready  action,  celerity  of  move- 
ment, alertness,  precision,  and  an  easy  adaptation  to 
unexpected  emergencies.  Health  and  happiness  to 


THE    SWING. 


you,  boys,  keep  the  ball  in  motion,  while  we  pass  on 
to  this  merry  company  of  butterflies  on  the  shady 
knoll  yonder.  Merry,  indeed,  and  happy  as  larks, 


34  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

playing  hide  and  seek  among  the  thick  undergrowth, 
and  behind  the  aged  trees ;  and  here,  in  this  quiet 
dell,  is  a  young  gipsy,  telling  fortunes,  and  keeping 
all  the  little  ones  around  her  in  high  glee,  by  the 
amusing  and  grotesque  pictures  she  draws  of  their 
future.  See  at  what  a  dizzy  height  that  brave  girl 
is  swinging ;  do  not  fear  for  her,  the  rope  is  strong 
and  well  secured  in  the  crotches  of  two  stout  trees. 
The  seat  is  a  firm  one,  and  a  strong  strap  is  passed 
round  in  front,  so  that  she  cannot  fall  out.  Let  the 
pendulum  vibrate,  with  its  living  weight  at  the  bot- 
tom ;  so  life  itself  vibrates  between  the  extremes  of 
joy  and  sorrow,  then  wanes  and  stops,  and  gives  way 
to  another,  and  another,  and  another.  Heigho  ! 
that  thought  has  too  much  shadow  for  this  time  and 
place,  let  us  pass  into  the  sunshine  again.  Here  is 
a  boy  with  a  burning  glass,  trying  to  set  fire  to  the 
green  grass,  but  it  won't  even  smoke  ;  he  wishes  he 
had  a  little  powder,  but  that,  surely,  would  be  out 
of  place  in  a  picnic.  Here  is  a  bright  company,  amu- 
sing themselves  with  a  camera  obscura,  on  which  they 
are  delighted  to  see  all  the  groups  and  divisions  of 
their  gay  party,  their  various  movements,  crossing 
and  recrossing,  their  endless  changes  of  position. 
u  Aha  !"  says  Charlie,  "  I  do  believe  the  whole  grove 
and  everybody  in  it,  is  shut  up  in  that  little  box.  I 
wish  I  could  look  inside." 

Well  done,  Charlie,  look  in  arid  learn,  meanwhile 
we  pass  on  to — what  is  this  ?   a  throne  !   yes.  and  a 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


35 


queen,  and  who  knows  how  many  lords  and  ladies, 
knights  and  fairies,  nymphs,  floras,  and  all  sorts  of 


THE    MAY    QUEEN. 


36  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

bright  and  beautiful  witches.  What  does  this  mean  ? 
Hark,  the  trumpet  sounds,  summoning  all  the  queen's 
loyal  subjects  to  attend  her  coronation  ;  and  lo  !  they 
come,  flying  in  from  all  directions.  The  swings  are 
vacant,  the  grace  hoops  are  hung  on  the  trees,  the 
ball  is  no  longer  in  motion,  the  camera  is  painting 
the  scene,  with  no  one  near  to  admire  it,  and  all  the 
world  is  here.  The  queen  ascends  the  throne,  kneel- 
ing on  the  lower  step,  as  she  goes  up,  to  receive  her 
crown  of  flowers.  She  addresses  to  her  subjects  a 
hope  that  they  will  enjoy  and  improve  the  day,  so 
that  the  memory  of  it  will  be  all  sunshine  and  flow- 
ers. They  reply  in  a  sweet  song  to  the  "  queen  of 
flowers,"  which  makes  the  grove  ring  and  the  distant 
hills  echo,  and  startle  all  the  birds  to  renew  their 
songs.  The  queen  thanks  them  for  their  kind  wish- 
es, invites  them  to  the  feast,  and  leads  the  way. 
We  follow  and  partake  ;  but  to  describe  that  feast, 
with  its  innocent  mirth,  its  sweet  effect  upon  heart 
and  manners,  its  refining  influence  upon  the  rude, 
its  harmonizing  influence  upon  persons  of  different 
tastes  and  habits,  and  its  generous  interchange  of 
kindly  feelings  between  those  in  different  ranks,  who 
seldom  meet  elsewhere, — is  more  than  we  shall  at- 
tempt. We  leave  it  to  be  imagined,  or  rather  to  be 
tried.  Try  it,  parents  ;  try  it,  sabbath  schools  ;  try 
it,  neighborhoods ;  you  will  find  it  a  most  happy  blen- 
ding of  utile  cum  dulce,  in  which  the  useful  shall  be 
altogether  sweet,  and  the  sweet  altogether  useful. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  37 


THE  BRIGHT  SHILLING. 

"  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

ff /^OME,  Clara  and  Minnie,  put  up  your  dolls, 

\J  dears  ;  it's  getting  quite  dark,  and  only  wants 
ten  minutes  to  bed-time/'  said  Mrs.  Anderson  to  her 
children,  two  merry  little  creatures  of  five  and  seven 
years  old.  The  gentle  Minnie  obeyed  the  summons 
at  once,  saying  to  her  sister,  who  seemed  not  to 
hear  it,  "  Perhaps  mamma  will  tell  us  a  story, 
Clara,  before  we  go  to  bed,  if  we  tidy  up  quickly." 

"  It  must  be  a  very  short  one,  darling,"  replied 
mamma. 

"  And  a  true  one,  please,  ma,"  added  Clara  ; 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  two  little  ones  had  seated 
themselves  on  a  large  stool,  at  their  mother's  feet, 
and  nestled  their  heads  in  her  lap,  while  she  related 
as  follows  :- — 

"  One  day,  while  papa  and  1  were  staying  in  New 
York,  last  autumn,  at  Mrs.  Steven's,  I  was  walking 
through  one  of  the  narrow  streets,  with  her  little 
Emily  (who  is  about  your  age,  Minnie),  by  my  side, 
when  we  saw  a  thin-faced,  sorrowful-looking  child, 
sitting  on  a  doorstep,  and  binding  a  pair  of  shoes, 
stopping  every  now  and  then  to  wipe  away  the  tears 
from  her  red  and  swollen  eyes. 

"  'What's  the  matter,  dear  ?'  I  asked. 

"The  little  girl  pointed  to  two  merry  children 


38 


MERRY     S      BOOK     OF 


THE    DOLLS. 


TALES      AND      STORIES.  39 

who  were  laughing  and  chatting  near,  and  burst  into 
'tears.  At  last  she  sobbed  out :  '  They're  going  to 
the  great  garden  where  the  lions  and  tigers  live, 
and  will  see  lots  of  fine  things,  and  I  can  go  nowhere/ 

"  '  How  is  that,  my  child  ?'  I  said. 

"  '  'Cause  they  go  to  the  Sunday-school,  and  mo- 
ther won't  let  me  go.  She  makes  me  work  the 
whole  day ;  and  I'm  so  tired  of  sitting  here  always. 
And  I  can't  go  to  the  great  garden  without  paying 
a  lot  of  money.  I've  been  saving  farthings  for  it  a 
long  time,  but  they  say  there  isn't  half  enough  in 
this,'  and  she  handed  me  a  dirty  little  bag  of  small 
coppers.  '  Mother  said  she'd  give  me  a  holiday  to- 
day ;  but  'tisn't  of  any  good  if  I  can't  go  anywhere. 
I  don't  know  when  I  shall  get  one  again.' 

"  I  felt  Emily  pull  my  dress  once  or  twice  while 
the  poor  child  was  speaking,  and  then  she  whispered  : 

"  '  My  bright  shilling,  auntie  !  will  grandmamma 
be  angry  ?' 

te  i  But,  Emily  dear,  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
buy  a  Noah's  Ark  with  that,'  I  said. 

"'I  can  do  without  it,  auntie,'  replied  Emily. 
'  I'd  much  rather  she  should  have  the  money  ;  she 
says  she  never  saw  any  fine  things.  Do  tell  her  to 
come  and  fetch  it  :  it's  in  my  red  purse  at  home.' 

"  How  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  poor  little 
creature's  beaming  face  and  sparkling  eyes,  as  Emily 
gave  her  the  bright  shilling  an  hour  after  our  talk 
with  her.  You  would  not  have  recognized  her  as 


40 


MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 


the  sorrowful,  weeping  child  on  the  doorstep.  But 
1  scarcely  think  she  looked  happier  than  Emily,  who 
skipped  and  jumped  about  the  whole  day,  so  that 
one  would  think  she  had  just  received  a  shilling 
instead  of  having  given  it  away.  She  could  think 
of  nothing  but  the  little  girl  and  the  great  gardens. 


FELTERI 

TELLING   THE   STORY. 

"  And  now,  darlings,  my  story  is  ended,  and  it  is 
quite  time  these  little  eyes  were  shut." 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


41 


"  Oh,  don't  leave  off  yet,  ma  !"  said  Clara. 

"  It's  so  interesting  !"  added  Minnie.  "  Just  tell 
us,  dear  ma,  if  the  little  girl  enjoyed  herself  in  the 
great  gardens." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Anderson,  "  very  much,  in- 
deed ;  but  it  would  take  too  long  now  to  tell  you  all 
about  that  ;  so  good-night,  darlings — here  comes 
Jane  ;"  and  thanking  their  kind  mamma  for  her  lit- 
tle story,  Clara  and  Minnie  kissed  her,  and  ran  off 
to  bed. 

A  little  word,  in  kindness  spoken, 

A  movement,  or  a  tear, 
Has  often  healed  the  heart  that's  broken, 

And  made  a  friend  sincere. 


42  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


ROBIN  HOOD. 

person  is  very  famous  in  old  English  history 
_L    and  the  popular  ballads  and  traditions  of  the 
country  people  of  England.     He  is  supposed  to  have 
lived  in   the    twelfth   century,  during  the  reign  of 
Richard,  surnamed  Cceur  de  Lion. 

When  William  duke  of  Normandy  conquered 
England,  and  made  himself  king  there,  he  intro- 
duced his  Norman  followers  into  the  country,  and 
gave  them  the  lands  of  the  conquered  Saxons. 
These  Norman  chieftains  were  tyrannical  and  op- 
pressive towards  the  country  people,  driving  them 
from  their  farms  and  houses,  and  compelling  great 
numbers  of  them  to  seek  refuge  from  their  oppressors 
in  the  woods  and  solitary  places.  Here  they  lived 
in  bands,  enjoying  a  sort  of  wild  independence,  and 
encouraging  each  other  to  keep  up  the  old  Saxon 
national  spirit.  They  subsisted  by  hunting  deer 
and  other  game  ;  and  sometimes  they  attacked  the 
Norman  chiefs  and  plundered  them.  In  this  man- 
ner they  lived  in  a  state  of  outlawry,  the  government 
being  unable  to  expel  them  from  their  hiding-places. 
The  most  famous  of  these  outlaws  W7as  Robin. 
Hood.  He  was  born  at  the  town  of  Locksley,  in 
Nottinghamshire,  and  dwelt  in  the  forest  of  Sher- 
wood. His  favorite  companions  were  Little  John, 
and  Friar  Tuck  ;  the  latter  was  said  to  be  a  monk, 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


43 


ROBIN   HOOD    AND   LITTLE   JOHN. 


44  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

who  officiated  as  Eobin  Hood's  chaplain.  Eobin 
Hood  himself  is  often  called  by  the  old  chroniclers, 
Earl  of  Huntington,  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  he 
had  any  legal  claim  to  this  title  ;  his  true  name 
seems  to  have  been  Kobert  Fitz  Ooth. 

His  exploits  were  a  common  subject  of  ballads 
and  songs  from  the  time  of  Edward  TIL,  though 
many  of  these  poems,  now  extant,  appear  to  have 
been  composed  or  altered  in  later  times.  They 
celebrate  Kobin  Hood's  skill  in  archery,  and  the 
considerate  manner  in  which  he  carried  on  his 
maraudings  and  robberies.  He  was  famous  for  rob- 
bing the  rich  for  the  purpose  of  giving  to  the  poor, 
and  this  made  his  story  a  great  favorite  with  the 
common  people. 

Stow,  the  old  English  chronicler,  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  him.  "  In  this  time,  about  the  year 
1190,  were  many  robbers  and  outlaws,  among  which 
Kobin  Hood  and  Little  John,  renowned  thieves, 
continued  in  woods,  despoiling  and  robbing  the 
goods  of  the  rich.  They  killed  none  but  such  as 
would  invade  them,  or  by  resistance  for  their  own 
defence. 

"  The  said  Kobert  entertained  an  hundred  tall 
men,  and  good  arcbers,  with  such  spoils  and  thefts 
as  he  got,  upon  whom  four  hundred  (were  they  ever 
so  strong)  durst  not  give  the  onset.  He  suffered  no 
woman  to  be  oppressed,  or  otherwise  molested. 
Poor  men's  goods  he  spared,  abundantly  relieving 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  45 

them  with  that  which,  by  theft,  he  got  from  abbeys, 
and  the  houses  of  rich  earls." 

DraytoD,  an  old  English  poet,  thus  speaks  of 
Kobin  Hood  in  his  poem  entitled  "  Polyolbion  :" — 

"  From  wealthy  abbots'  chests, 

And  churches'  abundant  store, 
What  oftentimes  he  took, 

He  shared  among  the  poor. 
No  lordly  bishop  came 

In  lusty  Robin's  way, 
To  him  before  he  went 

But  for  his  pass  must  pay. 
The  widow  in  distress   * 

He  graciously  relieved ; 
And  remedied  the  wrongs 

Of  many  a  virgin  grieved." 

Major,  the  Scottish  historian,  declares  that  Eobin 
Hood  was  indeed  an  arch  robber,  but  "  the  gentlest 
thief  that  ever  was."  He  seems  to  have  been  as 
famous  in  Scotland  as  in  England.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  this  celebrated  outlaw  and  his  wild  com- 
panions carried  on  their  depredations  without  any 
regard  to  the  rights  of  property.  But  it  must  be 
considered,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  laws  and 
regulations  established  by  the  Norman  kings  of 
England,  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  their  parks 
and  hunting  grounds,  were  most  severe  and  tyranni- 
cal, and  directly  calculated  to  drive  the  people  into 
desperate  ways  of  life. 

William  the  Conqueror  had  no  less  than  sixty- 
eight  torests,  thirty-one  chases,  and  seven  hundred 


46  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

and  eighty-one  parks,  in  England,  for  his  private 
use.  William  Rufus,  his  successor,  laid  waste  thirty 
miles  of  territory,  by  driving  the  country-people 
from  their  fields  and  dwellings,  in  order  to  form  what 
was  called  the  New  Forest.  By  the  severe  "  forest 
laws  "  any  man  who  killed  a  deer  belonging  to  the 
king,  was  punished  by  having  his  eyes  plucked  out, 
and  other  barbarous  acts  of  mutilation. 

But  as  the  English  in  those  days,  before  the  dis- 
covery of  gunpowder,  were  trained  up  from  boyhood 
to  the  use  of  the  long  bow,  and  excelled  all  other 
nations  of  Europe  in  the  art  of  shooting  with  this 
weapon,  they  often  infringed  these  laws  with  impu- 
nity. Troops  of  banditti,  similar  to  that  of  Eobin 
Hood,  were  commonly  lurking  about  the  royal 
forests,  and  from  their  superior  skill  in  archery,  and 
their  knowledge  of  the  recesses  of  the  wild  solitudes 
of  the  country,  found  it  no  difficult  matter  to  kill 
and  carry  off  the  king's  deer. 

How  great  a  favorite  Eobin  Hood  was  with  the 
country  people  of  England  in  former  times,  we  may 
judge  from  the  following  account  given  by  Bishop 
Latimer,  in  one  of  his  sermons. 

"  I  came  once  myself  to  a  place,  riding  on  a  jour- 
ney home  from  London  ;  and  I  sent  word  over  night 
.  into  the  town  that  I  would  preach  there  in  the  morn- 
ing because  it  was  a  holiday.  And  methought  it 
was  a  holiday's  work.  The  church  stood  in  my  way, 
and  I  took  my  horse,  and  my  company,  and  went 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  47 

thither.  I  thought  I  should  have  found  a  great 
company  in  the  church  ;  and  when  I  came  there  the 
church  door  was  fast  locked.  I  tarried  there  half 
an  hour  and  more  ;  and  at  last  the  key  was  found, 
and  one  of  the  parish  comes  to  me  and  says,  '  Sir, 
this  is  a  busy  day  with  us.  We  cannot  hear  you  ; 
it  is  Robin  Hood's  day.  The  parish  are  gone 
abroad  to  gather  for  Robin  Hood,  I  pray  you  let 
[hinder']  them  not/  I  was  fain  then  to  give  place 
to  Robin  Hood."  The  sermon  in  which  the  above 
anecdote  is  related  was  preached  before  King  Ed- 
ward VI. 

The  exploits  of  this  renowned  outlaw  have  been 
the  theme  of  a  great  multitude  of  compositions 
both  in  prose  and  verse  ;  the  catalogue  of  the  ro- 
mances and  ballads  on  this  subject  is  very  long, 
and  shows  the  general  interest  which  the  English 
people  cf  old  times  felt  in  the  romantic  history  ot 
Robin  Hood. 

The  close  of  Robin  Hood's  life  has  been  describ- 
ed in  the  following  manner.  Having  for  a  long 
series  of  years  maintained  a  sort  of  independent 
sovereignty,  and  set  kings,  judges,  and  magistrates 
at  defiance,  a  proclamation  was  published  offering  a 
considerable  reward  to  any  person  who-  would  cap- 
ture him,  either  alive  or  dead.  Nobody,  however, 
dared  to  attempt  his  arrest,  or  he  was  too  much  a 
favorite  with  all  his  neighbors  to  allow  them  to  en- 
tertain any  desire  to  see  this  done.  At  length,  the 


48  MERRY'S    BOOKOF 

infirmities  of  old  age  came  upon  him,  and  during  a 
fit  of  sickness  he  found  it  necessary  to  be  blooded. 
For  this  purpose  he  applied  to  the  prioress  of  a  nun- 
nery, in  Yorkshire  ;  as  the  women  of  the  religious 
orders  were,  in  that  age,  famous  for  their  skill  in 
surgery.  This  woman  treacherously  bled  him  to 
death,  November  18,  1247,  he  being  then  in  his 
eighty-seventh  year.  He  was  buried  under  a  stone 
by  the  highway. 

The  following  epitaph  was  written  on  him,  al- 
though the  language  has  been  modernized  to  make 
it  intelligible  to  common  readers. 

"  Here,  underneath  this  little  stone, 
Through  Death's  assaults  now  lieth  one, 
Known  by  the  name  of  Robin  Hood, 
Who  was  a  thief  and  archer  good. 
Full  thirty  years  and  something  more, 
He  robbed  the  rich  to  feed  the  poor ; 
Therefore  his  grave  bedew  with  tears, 
And  offer  for  his  soul  your  prayers." 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


49 


HOW  EDWARD  SHARP  GOT  CURED  OF  HIS  FAULTS. 


50  MERE  Y'S     BOOK     OF 


HOW  EDWAED  SHAEP  GOT  CUBED  OF 
HIS  FAULTS. 

I  CANNOT  tell  why  it  is,  but  some  boys  who  are 
not  very  bad,  do  like  to  be  in  mischief.     Of  this 
kind   was   one  of  my  little  friends — a  handsome, 
black-eyed    fellow,   by  the   way — named  Edward 
Sharp. 

Edward,  or  Ned,  as  we  used  to  call  him,  was  not 
ill-natured,  nor  ill-tempered,  nor  very  wicked  in  any 
way  ;  but  he  dearly  loved  to  tease  people,  and  many 
a  saucy  joke  did  he  play  upon  his  youthful  compan- 
ions. Even  his,  sister  Jane,  who  was  a  good,  kind 
creature  as  ever  lived,  was  often  made  the  subject 
of  Ned's  mischievous  practices. 

In  vain  did  the  boy's  father  and  mother  advise, 
caution,  and  threaten  him  for  his  faults  and  follies  : 
a  spirit  of  elvish  fun  seemed  to  be  in  his  very 
nature.  But  at  last  he  got  cured  in  a  way  nobody 
expected. 

The  story  is  this  :  Ned  had  one  day  placed  a  pin 
in  the  bottom  of  a  chair,  with  the  point  sticking  up, 
and  he  expected  somebody  would  sit  down  upon  it. 
From  this  he  anticipated  a  deal  of  sport.  He  had 
not  put  the  point  up  very  high,  so  as  to  inflict  a  se- 
vere wound  ;  but  he  chuckled  a  great  deal  at  the 
idea  of  seeing  some  one  bound  out  of  the  chair,  as  if 
stung  by  a  bumble-bee. 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  51 

But  it  chanced  that  no  one  sat  down  in  the  chair 
for  some  time,  and  Ned's  attention  being  directed  to 
something  else,  he  forgot  all  about  the  pin.  After  a 
little  time,  he  was  caught  in  his  own  trap,  for  he  sat 
down  bang  in  the  chair,  and  the  pin  entered  pretty 
deeply  into  his  flesh.  In  his  agony  and  surprise, 
he  jumped  into  the  air,  and  uttered  a  terrible  cry. 

At  first  everybody  in  the  room  looked  about  with 
wonder,  but  pretty  soon  Jane  went  to  the  chair,  and 
there  seeing  the  pin  artfully  arranged,  she  had  no 
difficulty  in  guessing  at  the  cause  of  the  uproar. 
She  directed  the  attention  of.  every  one  in  the  room 
to  the  pin,  and  at  once  all  eyes  were  turned  on 
•Master  Ned.  He  very  speedily  ceased  crying,  and 
hung  down  his  head  in  shame.  It  was  needless  to 
preach  a  sermon  to  him  on  the  occasion.  He  saw 
very  clearly  the  moral  of  his  adventure — which  was, 
that  he  who  sets  traps  for  others,  is  sure  some  day 
or  other  to  be  caught.  From  that  time  he  gave  up 
his  habit  of  teasing  and  mischief-making,  and  long 
before  he  was  a  man,  he  had  learned  to  practice 
kindness  to  all  around  him. 


52  MERRY'S   BOOK  OF 

THE   YELLOW  EOSE. 


are  very  still  lately  after  school, 
what  makes  them  so  ?"  said  Mrs.  Evans, 
whose  house  stood  near  the  Academy  ; 
"they  used   to   annoy  us   greatly    by  their 
shouts,  but  lately  I  have  not  heard  them  at 
all." 

"Most  of  the  larger  boys  have  become  greatly 
interested  in  gardening,"  said  Mrs.  Wilder,  "  hence 
they  go  home  as  soon  as  they  are  dismissed." 

"  I  hope  they  will  continue  to  do  so.  When  they 
remain  and  play  on  the  green,  they  make  noise 
enough  to  render  one  distracted.  I  have  sometimes 
said  to  Mr.  Evans  that  we  should  be  obliged  to 
change  our  residence  for  one  more  quiet." 

"  Boys  generally  give  their  lungs  some  exercise 
when  they  leave  the  confinement  of  the  schoolroom. 
It  does  them  good." 

"  It  does  not  do  those  who  are  condemned  to  hear 
them  much  good." 

"It  enables  them  to  exercise  the  virtue  of  pa- 
tience." 

ft  I  think  if  you  lived  here,  your  opinion  would 
be  different." 


TALES    AND    STORIES. 


53 


Mrs.  Evans  had  no  children,  and  hence  was  not 
quite  as  forbearing  towards  their  recreations  and 
follies  as  she  might  have  been.  She  could  not  see 
why  children  need  make  any  more  noise  than  grown 
persons  ;  she  thought  they  had  no  right  to  make  as 
much.  Boys  are  not  as  large  as  men,  therefore  she 
concluded  they  had  no  right  to  make  as  much  noise 
as  men.  But  she  found  that  the  facts  did  not  agree 
with  this  logical  conclusion.  It  was  notorious  that 
boys  made  more  noise  than  men.  Indeed,  she 
seemed  to  think  that  boys  were  little  else  than  noise- 
making  machines,  nuisances  which  ought  to  be 


GARDENING. 

abated.      Of  course  Mrs.  Evans  was  not  remarkably 
popular  with  the  boys.      It  is  quite  possible  that  in 


54  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

consequence  of  her  peculiar  opinions,  there  were 
louder  shouts  in  the  vicinity  of  her  dwelling  than 
there  would  otherwise  have  been. 

But  gardening  had  engaged  their  attention,  and 
Mrs.  Evans'  ears  had  rest.  She  was  sure,  however, 
that  the  calm  would  not  last  long,  and  that  when 
the  urchins  began  again,  they  would  make  up  the 
temporary  deficiency  with  interest  Some  amiable 
people  are  sure  that  if  boys  do  right  to-day,  they 
will  certainly  do  wrong  to-morrow.  Hence  it  is 
always  proper  to  regard  them  with  suspicion  and 
blame. 

But  let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the  matter  of 
gardening.  The  teacher  had  suggested  the  idea  to 
one  or  two  of  the  leading  boys,  and  they  entered 
into  it  with  enthusiasm.  They  induced  their  parents 
to  assign  them  a  bit  of  land  for  gardens,  and  all 
their  leisure  hours  were  spent  in  preparing  it  for 
flowers.  Their  example  became  contagious.  All 
the  boys  rushed  into  gardening.  Those  who  could 
not  procure  ground  that  was  inclosed,  appropiiated 
portions  pertaining  to  the  highway,  and  inclosed  them 
with  miniature  fences,  which  the  street  cows  gazed 
at  with  great  gravity,  as  they  chewed  the  cud,  and 
their  fellow-freemen,  the  porkers,  rooted  down  to 
see  if  there  were  any  corn  or  potatoes  within  which 
they  might  root  up. 

Boys,  like  men  and  women,  like  to  do  what  other 
folks  do.  It  was  not  strange,  therefore,  that  the 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  55 

cultivation  of  flowers  was  the  order  of  the  day. 
All  the  gardens  in  the  vicinity,  which  contained 
flowers,  were  laid  under  contribution  by  those  who 
were  under  the  influence  of  this  newly  awakened 
zeal.  The  supply  was  limited,  and  the  demand 
great.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Flower  gardens 
without  flowers  were  not  exactly  the  thing.  Some 
thought  of  turning  utilitarians,  and  of  filling  their 
gardens  with  corn  and  cabbages,  but  the  fashion  set 
exclusively  in  the  direction  of  the  ornamental,  and 
the  rebellious  attempt  was  not  made. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  James  Halsey,  that  spring 
was  nursing  in  the  woods  and  fields  many  choice 
flowers  which  she  would  readily  consent  should  be 
transferred  to  gardens,  provided  they  were  treated 
tenderly.  Dame  Nature  is  not  willing  that  any  of 
her  productions  should  be  treated  unkindly  and 
harshly.  If  it  is  done,  she  withdraws  her  counten- 
ance and  support,  which  is  sure  to  cause  them  to 
fade  and  die.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  men  treat  her 
offspring  kindly,  she  will  assist  in  rearing  them,  and 
in  bringing  them  to  a  higher  perfection  than  they 
woulft  have  attained  in  the  places  where  they  were 
born. 

"  Come,"  said  James  to  Herbert  Alfred,  on  the 
morning  of  a  holiday,  "  let  us  go  into  the  woods  and 
find  some  wild  flowers,  and  plant  them  in  our  gar- 
dens." 

"  I  never  knew  any  body  to  plant  wild  flowers  in 


56  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

the  garden/'  said  Herbert.  "  Any  body  can  see 
them  in  the  woods." 

"  True,  but  it  is  some  trouble  to  go  to  the  woods 
to  see  them.  I  think  they  will  look  very  pretty  in 
our  gardens." 

"  If  we  could  find  some  which  nobody  has  seen, 
and  were  to  pretend  we  got  them  from  somebody's 
garden,  a  great  way  off,  it  would  do,  I  think.  Folks 
would  think  a  great  deal  of  them,  then." 

"  As  I  stock  my  garden  to  please  myself,  I  do  not 
care  whether  other  folks  think  a  great  deal  of  my 
flowers  or  not.  I  wish  to  get  those  that  are  really 
beautiful,  and  enjoy  them." 

u  Well,  I  will  go  with  you,  but  you  must  not  let 
anybody  know  it." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  want  anybody  else  to  get  any. 
If  all  the  boys  get  them,  there  will  be  no  use  in 
having  them." 

Herbert  was  like  many  grown-up  people.  They 
want  many  things,  not  because  they  regard  them  as 
beautiful,  but  because  others  regard  them  so. 
And  they  regard  things  as  valuable  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  uncommon,  and  think  a  thing  has 
lost  all  desirableness  if  some  other  person  has  one 
like  it.  In  their  weakness  and  follies,  boys  and  girls 
are  quite  as  bad  as  men  and  women. 

James  and  Herbert  furnish  themselves  with  bas- 
kets and  tools,  and  set  out  for  a  forest  which  cover 


TALES    AND     STORIES.  57 

ed  the  southern  side  of  a  hill.  The  south  wind  was 
whispering  gently  to  the  violets,  and  other  spring 
flowers,  to  come  forth  and  show  themselves,  and, 
under  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun,  they  were  begin- 
ning to  do  so.  The  boys  soon  filled  their  baskets 
with  flowers  and  flowering  shrubs,  which  were  really 
more  beautiful  than  any  of  the  flowers  and  shrubs 
they  had  procured  from  gardens.  Even  Herbert,  who 
was  so  much  accustomed  to  let  other  persons  form 
his  opinions  for  him,  was  struck  with  the  beauty  of 
the  violets,  and  said,  "  If  these  had  come  from  Eng- 
land they  would  be  prettier  than  anything  we  have." 

James  did  not  enter  into  controversy  with  him. 
He  was  content  with  perceiving  and  enjoying  their 
beauty,  which,  to  his  eye,  was  as  great  as  if  they 
had  been  reared  in  Queen  Victoria's  garden.  James 
had  the  rare  habit  of  thinking  for  himself — of  form- 
ing his  own  opinions. 

It  happened  that  both  boys  had  more  flowers  than 
they  had  space  to  put  them  in.  James  perceived 
his  surplus,  and  offered  them  to  the  first  one  that 
came  along.  He  knew  he  would  have  an  opportuni- 
ty of  disposing  of  them  in  a  short  time,  for  the  boys 
were  constantly  passing  round  to  see  what  progress 
each  was  making. 

Herbert  having  set  out  such  of  his  collection  as 
he  had  room  for,  hastened  to  destroy  the  rest,  before 
any  one  should  come  along  to  ask  for  them.  He 
came  to  see  James  just  as  James  was  in  the  act  of 


58  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

giving  his  surplus  to  Allen  Irvine,  a  boy  who  was 
in  feeble  health,  and  unable  to  go  to  the  forest  him- 
self. 

"  What  made  you  such  a  fool  as  to  give  him  those 
flowers  ?"  said  Herbert,  as  soon  as  Allen  was  out  of 
hearing. 

"  I  did  not  want  them/'  said  James. 

"  Well,  why  did  you  not  throw  them  away  ?" 

"  Because  they  had  good  roots  and  will  do  well 
in  his  garden." 

"  What  of  that  ?  I  didn't  mean  to  have  any- 
body know  we  had  them  till  it  was  too  late  to  get 
any  more.  Now  every  boy  in  the  place  will  get 
them,  and  very  likely  they  will  find  handsomer  ones 
than  ours." 

"  That  will  not  make  ours  the  less  beautiful." 

"If  I  wanted  to  give  them  away,  I  would  not 
have  given  them  to  James  Allen." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  poor  and  sickly,  and  you  never 
can  get  anything  from  him  in  pay." 

"  He  seemed  very  thankful,  and  that  I  think  is 
good  pay." 

"  If  you  call  thankfulness  good  pay,  you  can  soon 
get  rid  of  everything  you  have." 

Herbert,  in  the  conversation  above  recorded,  ex- 
hibited some  further  traits  of  character  which  are 
frequently  found  in  grown-up  people.  There  are 
those  who,  if  they  have  favors  to  bestow,  will  care- 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  59 

fully  confine  them  to  those  who  have  ability  to  re- 
turn them.  What  they  would  call  acts  of  benevo- 
lence are  simply  investments,  on  which  they  hope 
and  expect  to  recover  a  high  rate  of  interest.  Of 
course,  such  persons  know  nothing  of  the  pleasures 
of  benevolence. 

James  had  experience  of  the  pleasure  of  benevo- 
lence when  he  gave  his  flowers  to  Allen.  He  gave 
them  to  him  because  he  was  poor  and  sickly,  unable 
to  get  them  himself,  and  unable  to  give  anything  in 
return. 

Herbert's  last  remark  seems  to  imply  that,  in  his 
opinion,  thankfulness  was  a  commodity  easily  ob- 
tained. I  do  not  agree  with  him.  It  is  not  often 
that  true  thankfulness,  either  to  God  or  man,  follows 
the  reception  of  favors.  I  am  sure  Herbert  would 
have  felt  very  little  thankfulness  for  any  favors  done 
him. 

We  must  do  good  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  in  or- 
der to  receive  benefits  in  return,  or  thankfulness 
from  those  on  whom  our  favors  are  conferred. 

In  a  certain  garden,  the  property  of  a  stern  old 
man,  there  was  a  yellow  rose,  the  only  one  in  the  vil- 
lage. The  owner  rejoiced  in  his  sole  proprietorship, 
and  refused  all  applications  for  shoots,  which  it  threw 
up  abundantly  from  its  roots. 

One  day,  a  poor  ragged  boy,  who  never  attended 
school,  and  who  was  looked  down  upon  and  often  ill 
treated  by  the  school  boys  on  account  of  his  pover- 
ty, brought  James  a  shoot  from  said  rose. 


60  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

"  Where  did  you  get  this  ?"  said  James,  as  the 
boy,  with  evident  satisfaction,  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

"  I  got  it  at  Mr.  Storms'." 

"  How  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"  I  have  been  at  work  in  his  garden." 

"  Did  he  give  you  leave  to  take  it  ?" 

"No." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  want  stolen  goods  ?" 

"  I  didn't  steal  it." 

"  How  did  you  get  it,  then  ?" 

"I  took  it." 

James  was  half  indignant  and  half  amused  at  the 
distinction  made  between  taking  and  stealing. — it  is 
a  distinction  which  many  boys  make — but  it  is  plain- 
ly a  distinction  without  a  difference. 

"  I  can't  take  it,  Tom." 

"  Why  not  ?  I  wanted  you  to  have  it.  I  would 
not  have  taken  it  for  any  body  else.  You  have 
always  treated  me  well." 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  you  should  steal  it  for 
me." 

"I  didn't  steal  it.  Mr.  Storms  told  me  to  make 
a  bed  for  parsnips.  He  told  me  to  dig  up  every 
thing  in  it,  and  pick  out  all  the  roots  and  every 
thing.  In  digging,  I  threw  up  this  root,  and  I 
thought  I  might  as  well  bring  it  to  you  as  to  throw 
it  away." 

This  statement  put  a  different  aspect  on  the  mat- 
ter. The  idea  of  theft  had  not  entered  Tom's  mind. 


TALES     AND     STO^TKS. 


61 


X 


The  rose  was  a  very  desirable  object.  Might  he  not 
without  blame  accept  it  and  place  it  in  his  garden  ? 
Many  would  have  seen  no  difficulty  in  so  doing,  but 
James  knew  that  there  was  a  difference  between 
what  is  just  right  and  what  is  not  quite  right.  He 
knew  that  the  true  standard  for  a  man  is  what  is 
just  right.  So,  after  pondering  the  matter  for  some 
time,  he  said,  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
kindness,  but  I  will  not  set  it  out  till  I  get  Mr. 
Storms'  permission.  Do  you  work  for  Mr.  Storms 
to-morrow  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  take  this  root  back,  and  take  care  of 
it,  and  I  will  come  in  the  morning  and  tell  him  you 
dug  it  up  by  mistake,  and,  maybe,  he  will  let  me 
have  it." 


62  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

"  I  know  he  won't." 

"  Perhaps  he  will.  You  take  it  back  now  to  his 
garden." 

Tom  very  unwillingly  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
garden,  carrying  with  him  the  rose  which  he  sup- 
posed James  would  be  eager  to  receive. 

Just  as  he  entered  the  garden,  Mr.  S.,  who  had 
unexpectedly  returned,  met  him. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?"  said  he. 

"  Something  that  I  dug  up  in  making  the  parsnip 
bed." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  it  ?" 

"  I  thought  it  would  die  if  it  was  not  set  out,  so 
I  took  it  over  to  James  Halsey  ;  but  he  would  not 
take  it  without  your  consent/' 

"  Wouldn't  take  it  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  told  him  I  found  it  among  the  roots 
you  told  me  to  dig  up  and  throw  away." 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  to  dig  up  a  rose-bush,  you 
stupid  ;  but  since  there  is  one  honest  boy  in  the 
place,  you  may  take  it  to  him  and  tell  him  I  say  he 
may  have  it.  But  if  you  ever  take  anything  out  of 
the  garden  again,  you  will  be  sorry  for  it." 

Tom  did  not  wait  to  be  told  a  second  time  to 
take  the  rose  to  its  proprietor. 

If  the  reader  has  paid  attention  to  the  foregoing 
pages,  he  has  had  several  points  worthy  of  reflection 
set  before  his  mind,  and  has  seen  another  illustration 
of  the  old  proverb  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy. 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  63 


THE  LOST  PUZZLE. 


ELL,   Willie,  one  would  think 


that    you    had    lost   your    best 
friend." 

Aunt  Susan,  some  one  has  stolen  my 
Chinese  puzzle,  and  now  I  can  not  show 
it  to  George  Lawson." 
"  And  where  did  you  leave  it   last  night,  when 
you.  went  to  bed  ?" 

"  On  the  hall  table,  and  I  believe  that  Jim  Brown, 
the  washerwoman's  boy,  took  it  when  he  was  here 
this  morning." 

"  Be  careful,  Willie,  how  you  accuse  another. 
You  may  have  forgotten  where  you  laid  it." 

u  Oh,  I  am  certain  that  I  left  it  here  on  this 
table." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure.  Come  with  me  and  I  will 
see  if  I  can  not  find  it  for  you.  Have  you  looked 
everywhere  ?" 

"  Yes,  high  and  low,  in  every  place  where  I 
thought  it  likely  to  be.  That  Jim  Brown  has  it, 


64  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

and  I  will  go  straight  to  his  house,  and  make  him 
give  it  back  to  me." 

"  Wait,  and  see  that  it  is  nowhere  about  the 
house." 

"  I  know  that  it  has  gone,  for  I  have  looked  every- 
where." 

"  Not  everywhere,  as  I  have  no  recollection  of 
seeing  you  in  my  room  this  morning,  and  that  is  the 
last  place  you  had  it  last  night." 

"  Every  thing  that  I  get  is  taken  from  me.  All 
the  other  boys  keep  their  toys,  while  mine  go  some 
way  or  another." 

"  And  how  do  they  go  ?  Do  you  not  dispose  of 
them  yourself?  The  handsome  top  I  gave  you 
went  for  a  rusty  knife  ;  your  elegant  glass  marbles 
for  a  piece  of  cake.  That  soon  vanished,  and  the 
kite  Uncle  John  sent,  you  left  out  in  the  rain,  and  it 
was  of  course  spoiled.  Now  can  you  tell  me  wh*ere 
they  go  ?" 

"  But  this  puzzle  I  had  determined  to  keep,  and 
now  that  Jim  Brown  has  it." 

"  Hurrah  !  What  is  this,  Willie  ?"  said  Aunt 
Susan,  holding  up  the  identical  puzzle. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  forgot  I  left  it  here  last  night." 

"But  you  insisted  that  you  left  it  in  the  hall, 
and  knew  that  poor  Jim  Brown  had  it." 

"  As  I  thought  it  was  gone,  I  knew  that  no  one 
came  in  so  early  as  Jim,  so  I  thought  he  had  taken 
it." 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  65 

"  Hereafter,  if  you  lose  anything  never  accuse  any 
one  of  stealing  it  until  you  have  some  proof  that  he 
is  really  dishonest.  It  might  aifect  that  poor  boy's 
character  for  life  to  be  called  a  rogue,  even  by  a 
little  boy  like  you.  Sit  down  by  me,  and  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  that  will  show  you  the  evil  consequences 
arising  from  accusing  persons  falsely. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  girl,  a  lady  of  my  mother's 
acquaintance  came  to  reside  here.  She  was  very 
rich,  and  had  many  elegant  dresses,  and  a  great  deal 
of  costly  jewelry.  Among  the  latter  was  a  peculiar- 
ly carved  ring,  with  a  diamond  setting  of  great  value 
which  she  always  wore  upon  the  fore  finger  of  the 
left  hand,  and  only  took  it  off  once  in  a  great  while 
to  clean  it. 

"  My  mother,  having  some  plain  sewing  to  do, 
had  engaged  a  young  girl  to  come  to  the  house  and 
assist  her.  She  was  very  poor,  but  honest,  and 
strove  hard  to  keep  herself  and  mother  comfortable, 
by  her  untiring  industry.  Our  sewing-room  was  in 
the  second  story  of  the  back  building,  and  overlook- 
ed the  garden  that  was  beautifully  laid  out  in  stars 
and  diamonds,  decked  with  the  richest  flowers.  We 
had  a  great  many  bees  in  queer-shaped  hives,  glass- 
ed all  round,  so  that  we  might  see  the  honey- comb 
formed,  without  disturbing  the  bees  ;  also  several 
beautiful  birds  in  exquisite  cages,  that  were  arrang- 
ed among  the  flowers,  giving  a  picturesque  appear- 
£  **A  to  the  view. 


66  MERRY' s  BOOK   OF 

"  One  morning  Mrs  Montrose — for  that  was  the 
name  of  our  visitor — was  in  this  room,  and  showed 
this  ring,  which  for  some  cause  she  was  very  proud 
of,  to  the  seamstress,  Julia  Sawyer.  In  doing  so, 
she  discovered  that  it  needed  cleaning  ;  so  she  took 
the  basin  with  some  soap  and  water,  and  stood  by 
the  window  that  she  might  see  to  clean  it  thorough- 
ly. She  was  scrubbing  the  ring  busily,  when  sud- 
denly she  raised  her  eyes,  and  saw  my  mother's 
favorite  canary  perched  upon  the  top  of  his  cage. 
Forgetting  every  thing,  she  dropped  the  ring  in  the 
basin,  and  hastened  to  catch  the  little  songster  be- 
fore he  took  refuge  in  the  boughs  of  the  neighboring 
trees.  It  was  some  time  before  the  little  prisoner 
was  again  caged.  When  she  returned  to  the  room, 
the  bowl  was  emptied  and  the  ring  gone.  In  an  in- 
stant, suspicion  fell  upon  the  little  seamstress.  In 
vain  she  protested  herinncxcence,  saying  she  thought 
Mrs.  Montrose  had  raken  it  with  her  when  she  left 
the  room.  The  servant  who  had  cleaned  the  room 
during  her  absence  was  questioned  closely,  but  knew 
nothing  about  it. 

"  My  parents  felt  exceedingly  annoyed  to  think 
that  their  friend  should  meet  with  so  great  a  loss 
while  a  visitor  at  their  house,  and  that  suspicion  had 
fallen  upon  one  in  whom  they  had  ever  reposed  per- 
fect confidence.  Julia  offered  and  insisted  upon 
their  searching  her.  This  they  would  not  do,  be- 
cause they  thought  she  had  secreted  it  somewhere 


TALES     AND      STORIES.  67 

out  of  the  room.  My  father  begged  Mrs.  Montrose 
not  to  prosecute  Julia,  saying  that  in  all  probability 
she  would  find  it  again,  and,  if  Julia  really  had 
taken  it,  she  might  return  it  from  fear  of  exposure. 
This  kind  of  reasoning  Mrs.  Montrose  would  not  lis- 
ten to,  but  insisted  that  an  example  should  be  made 
of  her,  and  if  there  was  any  justice  she  should  go  to 
prison. 

We  all  felt  deeply  for  the  poor  girl,  who  was  near- 
ly deranged.  A  writ  was  issued,  and — as  she  had 
no  one  to  go  her  bail  (my  father  not  being  a  proper- 
ty holder)  she  was  carried  off  to  jail.  Her  mother 
was  apprised  of  her  daughter's  situation,  and  her 
agony,  to  think  her  darling  child  within  the  gloomy 
portals  of  the  prison,  is  better  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. She  went  on  her  knees  to  Mrs.  Montrose, 
who  said  the  law  must  take  its  course.  A  bill  was 
filed  against  her,  and  at  the  next  term  of  the  court 
she  was  brought,  pale  and  almost  fainting,  to  the 
dock,  where  the  most  abandoned  and  depraved  had 
received  their  sentences. 

"  Her  mother  accompanied  her  ;  and  more  like 
shadows  than  human  beings  did  they  appear  as  they 
listened  to  the  evidence  which,  if  true,  would  cer- 
tainly condemn  her.  After  the  testimony  was  taken 
the  judge  asked  her  if  she  had  anything  to  say. 
Her  answer  was,  '  I  am  innocent/  Of  this  she  had 
no  proof.  She  was  pronounced  guilty.  Scarce  a 
dry  eye  was  in  the  court-room,  from  the  judge  down, 


68  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

* 

with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Montrose,  who  thought, 
by  punishing  the  poor  girl,  she  would  be  repaid  for 
her  loss.  The  judge's  voice  trembled  when  he  pro- 
nounced the  sentence  of  two  years  in  the  State's 
prison,  as  that  was  the  shortest  time  allowed  for 
such  cases.  The  poor  agonized  mother  pleaded  in 
vain  to  share  her  daughter's  cell.  That  by  law  was 
forbidden.  Henceforth,  those  who  had  lived  for 
one  another  were  separated,  never  more  to  meet  this 
side  the  grave.  Scarce  a  week  had  elapsed,  ere  the 
mother  was  found  a  cold  and  stiffened  corpse,  with 
the  remnants  of  a  fatal  poison  by  her  side.  Julia 
bore  with  fortitude  her  great  trials.  A  consciousness 
of  innocence,  and  a  firm  reliance  in  One  that  will 
not  forsake  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him,  bore 
her  spirits  up.  But  close  confinement  and  hard 
work  brought  on  disease,  which  ended  in  death,  a 
few  months  after  her  incarceration. 

"  Mrs.  Montrose  returned  home,  amply  repaid  for 
her  misfortune  by  the  conviction,  of  the  guilty,  as 
she  thought." 

"  Well,  Aunty,  1  do  believe  Julia  did  take  the 
ring,  after  all." 

"  No,  my  dear,  she  did  not.  Do  you  see  the 
little  stream  that  runs  along  through  the  rear  of 
this  house,  in  which  all  the  sewers  empty.  It  was 
some  two  years  after  the  ring  was  lost,  that  two 
or  three  little  boys  like  yourself  were  playing  there, 
and  selecting  the  pebbles  for  marbles,  when  one 


TALES    AND     STORIES.  69 

found,  deeply  embedded  in  the  sand,  the  ring,  the 
same  ring.  It  had  been  thrown  out  in  the  basin  of 
water  into  the  sewer,  and  finally  found  its  way  to 
this  little  stream,  where,  in  all  probability,  it  would 
have  lain  until  this  time,  had  it  *not  have  been  for 
the  boys  hunting  pebbles.  Now  do  you  not  see 
how  wrong  it  is  to  accuse  any  one  falsely  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  and  you  will  not  catch  me  doing 
so  again.  What  did  you  do  with  the  ring  ?" 

"  We  sent  it  to  its  rightful  owner,  stating  how 
and  where  it  was  found." 

"  I  should  think  she  must  have  felt  very  bad." 

"  She  did  grieve  very  much,  and  came  on  to  make 
Julia  all  the  reparation  in  her  power.  It  was  too 
late — she  was  dead.  She  had  both  mother  and 
daughter  removed  to  a  shady  nook  in  our  cemetery, 
and  raised  a  neat  monument  over  them.  Now,  re- 
member never  to  accuse  another,  without  positive 
proof  of  his  guilt." 


70  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


THE  SLEIGH-RIDE. 


ONIES,   whoa!    stand    still    there, — you 
will  have  enough  to  do  for  your  little  trot- 

;/  ters   before   you   come  back.      Stand  still,  my 
beauties  !" 

Joe  Sands  was  more  proud  of  his  ponies  than  even 
of  his  own  black  locks  and  raven  whiskers,  which  he 
cultivated  and  curled  in  the  most  approved  fashion. 
He  was  now  rigged  out  in  the  most  magnificent 
style  ;  his  ponies  almost  covered  with  strings  of  bells, 
and  his  beautiful  scarlet  cutter  richly  lined  and  cush- 
ioned, and  provided  with  a  rich  fox  skin  robe,  lined 
with  scarlet  and  gold  plush.  His  own  person  was 
enveloped  in  an  elegant  wadded  wrapper,  with  a  fine 
Russian  beaver,  from  which  dangled  a  large  silken 
tassel. 

His  establishment  was  now  drawn  up  before  the 
comfortable  mansion  of  Mr.  Morris,  and  Joe  was 
somewhat  impatient  for  the  appearance  of  the  young 
ladies  whom  he  was  to  have  the  honor  of  driving  to 
the  wedding,  where  he  was  to  act  as  chief  grooms- 
man. With  an  occasional  crack  of  the  whip,  and  a 
sudden  reigning  in  of  the  ponies,  that  made  all  the 
bells  jingle  again,  and  a  loud  and  sharp  "Whoa 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  71 

there  !"  he  amused  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  an<! 
attracted  the  admiring  regards  of  a  troop  of  idle  boy^, 
as  well  as  some  of  the  more  grave  and  genteel  way- 
farers. 

"  There,  Aunt  Judy,  we  must  hurry.  Those  bells 
have  shaken  half  a  score  of  impatient  trills,  while 
you  have  been  adjusting  that  cap  of  yours.  One 
would  think  you  expected  to  be  the  belle  of  the 
evening,  and  to  secure  the  first  seat  in  the  bride's 
chair.  Here  we  are,  all  ready — three  handsome 
young  exquisites,  as  we  are,  and  waiting  in  all  pa- 
tience for  one  sober  chaperone  to  finish  her  prinking. 
There,  now,  dear  aunty,  you  can't  improve  that. 
You  do  look  so  bewitching,  I  don't  believe  Joe  Sands 
will  speak  to  me  at  all." 

u  Fanny — Fanny  Morris,  what  a  chatter-box  you 
are  !"  replied  Aunt  Judy,  as  she  turned  away  from 
the  looking  glass.  "  Did  you  ever  think  what  the 
tongue  is  made  for  ?" 

"  Do  hear  those  bells  again,"  interrupted  Fanny. 
"  Joe  is  cracking  his  whip  as  if  his  very  fingers  ached 
with  impatience,  and  the  ponies  are  as  restive  as 
chained  eagles.  How  they  will  fly  when  they  once 
get  started  I" 

"  Dear  me  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Judy,  "  I  am  afraid 
of  those  wild  ponies.  I  am  sure  they  will  upset  us, 
or  run  away  with  us." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  dear  aunty,"  interposed  the 

*;chief-loving  Susan  ;  "  I  should  love  dearly  to  be 


72  MERE  Y'S     BOOK     OF 

run  away  with  once  in  my  life,  and  even  an  overturn 
in  a  nice  soft  snow-bank  would  only  give  new  spirit 
to  the  frolic. 

Aunt  Judy  shruggecj  her  shoulders,  put  on  her 
last  shawl,  drew  her  boa  tightly  round  her  delicate 
neck,  and  with  a  quiet  "  Come,  girls,  I  am  ready," 
tripped  lightly  down  stairs. 

Joe  was  all  smiles  and  compliments.  The  ladies 
were  soon  seated,  Aunt  Judy  and  May  on  the  back 
seat,  Fanny  and  Susan  on  the  front,  with  Joe  be- 
tween them.  Crack  went  the  whip,  and  away  flew 
the  ponies  to  the  music  of  a  hundred  bells.  It  was 
a  splendid  afternoon.  The  road  was  as  smooth  as 
glass.  The  trees  were  loaded  with  wreaths  of  snow 
The  hills,  and  plains,  and  valleys  were  all  alike 
clothed  in  a  white  mantle. 

The  party  were  in  high  spirits :  and  even  Aunt 
Judy  laid  aside  her  usual  fears  and  enjoyed  it  highly. 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Sands/'  she  inquired,  "  will  the  party 
be  large  to-night  ?" 

"  Not  more  than  a  hundred,  ma'am,  I  think.* 

"  A  hundred,  indeed  !  Where  will  they  all  come 
from  ?  and  what  can  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"  They  are  coming  from  all  the  neighboring  towns  ; 
from  Wilton,  and  Turner,  and  Concord  and  Barlow, 
and  from  twenty  miles  round." 

Just  at  this  moment,  Frank  Willis,  driving  his 
span  of  black  switch  tails,  came  up  behind,  with  his 
sleigh  full  of  girls,  and  made  an  effort  to  pass.  Joe 


TALES    AND    STOEIES.  73 

Sands  cracked  up  his  ponies.  Frank  cracked  up  his 
blacks.  Aunt  Judy  screamed  outright ;  the  girls 
laughed  and  shouted,  each  party  cheering  up  their 
driver  and  urging  him  not  to  be  outdone  by  the 
other.  On  they  went ;  skimming  the  ground  like 
swallows,  up  the  hills  and  down  the  valleys,  the  po- 
mes keeping  the  lead  ;  but  the  blacks,  ever  and  anon, 
pressing  up  and  stretching  ahead,  as  if  they  would 
overreach  them. 

The  two  were  thus  crowding  side  by  side,  near  the 
top  of  a  gentle  hill  which  overlooked  the  village 
whither  they  were  bound.  All,  except  Aunt  Judy, 
were  in  the  highest  glee,  shouting,  laughing,  and 
cheering  their  horses  to  their  utmost  speed. 

On  the  very  top  of  the  hill,  they  met  another 
sleigh,  driving  at  an  equal  pace,  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. Joe  Sands,  being  on  the  right  side,  dashed 
by,  with  a  triumphant  hurra,  while  Frank,  though 
he  reigned  up  as  short  as  he  could,  was  soon  entan- 
gled with  the  stranger.  A  moment's  delay,  and  a 
word  of  advice  from  the  stranger,  and  Frank  was 
pushing  on  again  with  redoubled  speed. 

The  descent  was  long  and  irregular.  About  half 
way  down,  where  there  was  a  slight  curve  in  the  road, 
it  was  traversed  by  a  little  brook,  which  being  choked 
with  snow  and  ice,  had  overflowed  the  bridge,  and 
spread  a  sheet  of  ice  along  the  way  for  several  yards. 
To  Joe,  who  knew  nothing  of  this,  a  catastrophe 
was  inevitable.  The  sleigh  slewed  round  sharply 


74  MERRY'S    BOOK    or 

against  the  frozen  track  and  capsized,  with  all  its 
precious  cargo,  into  a  deep  drift  on  the  roadside. 

"  Oh,  me  !  I  am  killed,"  screamed  Aunt  Judy, 
"  and  all  the  girls  with  me  !" 

"  It  will  take  the  starch  out  of  that  beautiful  cap, 
aunty  dear,"  said  the  mischievous  Susan,  who  chan- 
ced to  be  at  the  top  of  the  heap. 

"  Whoa,  ponies  !"  screamed  Joe  Sands,  as  he  lift- 
ed himself  from  under  the  double  burden  of  that  fox 
skin  robe,  which  had  well  nigh  smothered  him,  and 
Fanny  and  Susan  who,  being  well  wrapped  up  in  it, 
had  fallen  with  it.  "Whoa,  ponies  !" 

But  the  ponies  were  half  a  mile  down  the  road 
with  the  sleigh  in  good  order  behind  them,  and  Frank 
Willis,  who  had  been  cautioned  against  this  danger, 
was  just  dashing  by,  vainly  endeavoring  to  rein  up 
his  blacks  for  the  rescue.  But  they  took  a  sudden 
offence  at  the  apparition  of  Joe  Sands  starting  up 
from  under  the  fox  skin  robe,  and  became  entirely 
unmanageable.  They  reared  and  plunged,  and  then 
sprang  away  with  the  speed  of  the  wind,  giving  no 
heed  to  the  bit,  nor  to  the  soothing  voice  of  their 
master. 

"  Whoa,  ponies,"  shouted  Joe  again,  trying  to 
brush  the  mist  from  his  eyes. 

"  Dear  aunty,  are  you  hurt  ?"  asked  Mary,  as 
soon  as  she  came  to  her  feet. 

"  Not  hurt,  but  killed,"  groaned  the  good  lady, 
shaking  the  snow  from  her  shawl. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  75 

"  Oh,  that  immaculate  cap,  dear  aunty,"  said 
Susan,  archly. 

"  Is  this  the  way  to  Barlow  ?"  asked  the  bewil- 
dered lady.  "  So  much  for  your  wild,  giddy  pranks. 
Where  are  we  ?  Are  you  all  alive  ?" 

"  Never  more  so,"  replied  Fanny  ;  "  but  in  no 
plight  for  a  dance." 

"  Where  are  those  ponies  ?"  screamed  Joe,  now 
just  restored  to  his  senses. 

"  There  they  go,"  replied  Fanny  ;  u  just  dashing 
round  the  old  church  yonder." 

The  distance  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  was  yet 
some  four  or  five  miles.  What  should  they  do  ? 
Aunt  Judy  looked  grave  and  uneasy  ;  but,  fortu- 
nately for  Joe,  she  did  not  speak.  Joe  had  all  the 
sputtering  to  himself,  and  he  laid  it  out  freely  upon 
the  road,  the  ponies,  and  Frank  Willis,  who,  he  said, 
"  was  always  in  his  way."  Fanny  and  Susan  enjoy- 
ed the  accident  highly,  and  exerted  all  their  powers 
of  mirth  and  wit  to  turn  a  seeming  disaster  into  a 
frolic. 

When  Joe  Sands  had  completely  recovered  his 
self-possession,  he  entered  into  the  frolic  with  a  good 
grace,  and  proposed  that  the  ladies  should  seat  them- 
selves upon  the  buffalo,  in  a  snug  little  nook  by  the 
roadside,  wrapped  in  the  fox  skin  robe,  while  he  ran 
on  to  search  for  the  run  away  ponies.  He  also  in- 
sisted upon  leaving  his  own  beautiful  wrapper,  as  an 
additional  security  to  Aunt  Judy  against  the  cold. 


76  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

bands  had  been  gone  about  an  hour,  and  the  lit- 
tle party  were  getting  exceedingly  merry,  when  Elder 
Staples,  from  the  Shaker  village,  passed  down  the 
road,  driving  the  great  market  sleigh  of  the  society, 
on  his  way  to  Boston. 

Attracted  by  a  sudden  outburst  of  laughter  from 
the  girls,  which  he  naturally  enough,  mistook  for  a 
scream,  Elder  Stephen  drew  up  by  the  roadside, 
alighted  from  his  comfortable  seat,  and  began  to 
search  for  the  cause.  The  jingling  of  his  bells  had 
put  the  noisy  girls  upon  their  guard,  and  all  their 
mirth  ceased  in  a  moment.  Without  any  further 
noise  to  guide  him,  the  benevolent  Shaker  followed 
the  foot  tracks,  and  soon  came  upon  their  retreat. 

It  was  a  singular  meeting.  Aunt  Judy  arose, 
with  dignity,  and  explained  their  accident,  and  the 
object  of  their  waiting  ;  while  the  girls  found  new 
cause  for  merriment  in  this  discovery. 

"  Won't  thee  take  a  seat  in  my  sleigh  ?"  said 
Broadbrim.  "  I  am  going  thy  way,  and  have  room 
for  all."  Thank  you,  friend,"  replied  Aunt  Judy, 
"  we  are  expecting  Mr.  Sands  every  moment.17 

"  But,  may  be  he  will  not  overtake  his  horses  as 
soon  as  he  expected.  May  be  the  sleigh  will  be 
broken,  and  I  fear  thee  will  catch  cold  here.  If 
friend  Joseph  should  be  coming  after  thee,  we  shall 
meet  him  on  the  way." 

"  Elder  Stephen's  arguments  appeared  sound  and 
reasonable  ;  and  all  the  ladies  were  soon  seated, 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  77 

wrapped  in  the  blankets  and  covered  all  over  with 
the  fine  robes  of  Mr.  Sands'  sleigh. 

It  was  a  quiet  ride  that  followed.  Friend  Ste- 
phen's horses  were  as  fat  and  sleek  as  himself,  and 
moved  on  with  an  even  pace,  though  a  slow^ne* 
The  very  bells  seemed  to  gingle  a  grave  and  quiet 
music,  and  all  the  party  partook  of  the  same  spirit. 
Not  a  word  was  spoken  for  the  first  half  hour. 

"  What  house  would  thee  like  to  stop  at  ?"  at 
length  asked  Stephen. 

"  At  the  sign  of  the  Bell,  if  you  please/'  replied 
Aunt  Judy. 

A  few  moments  after  they  stopped  at  the  sign  of 
the  Bell.  Stephen  received  the  thanks  of  the  party 
with  a  benevolent  smile,  and  "  a  thee  is  all  welcome/' 
and  drove  his  way. 

"  Dear  me  !"  exclaimed  Mary,  as  she  stepped  in 
upon  the  floor  of  the  tavern,  "  where  is  my  slipper  ! 
I  do  believe  I  must  have  left  it  in  the  Shaker's 
sleigh." 

At  that  moment  Frank  Willis  came  up  from  a 
cross-road,  into  which  he  had  driven  his  frightened 
horses  to  cool  them  down. 

u  Have  you  seen  the  ponies  ?"  cried  Fanny. 

"  Is  Joe's  beautiful  sleigh  safe  ?"  asked  Susan. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Sands  ?"  inquired  Aunt  Judy. 

"  Where  is  my  slipper  ?"  cried  Mary — all  in  the 
same  moment. 

Willis  had  seen  nothing  of  Sands  or  his  ponies. 


78  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

He  was  not  a  little  vexed  that  the  old  Shaker  had 
deprived  him  of  the  honor  imd  pleasure  of  picking 
up  the  shipwrecked  ladies.  They  were  all  now 
thrown  into  additional  trouble  about  Joe,  and 
gathering  around  the  cheerful  fire,  they  considered 
what  should  be  done.  * 

Meanwhile,  the  crest-fallen  Joe  had  accepted  the 
proffered  aid  of  a  kind  farmer,  who,  in  coming  down 
the  road  on  horseback,  attempted  to  arrest  the  mad 
flight  of  the  ponies  ;  but,  in  doing  so,  only  caused 
them  to  dash  off  into  another  road,  which  led  them 
back  toward  home. 

Joe  mounted  on  behind  the  farmer,  and  off  they 
went,  as  fast  as  Dobbin  could  go  under  his  double 
burden.  The  ponies  were  at  length  brought  up  at 
a  turnpike-gate,  some  seven  or  eight  miles  from  the 
place  of  their  starting.  There  Joe  came  up  with 
them,  but  he  was  obliged  to  pause  awhile,  to  give 
them  breath.  When  all  was  ready,  he  drove  with 
all  speed  to  the  scene  of  his  late  disaster. 

To  his  utter  consternation,  the  ladies  were  gone. 
Where  could  they  be  ?  Which  way  had  they  gone  ? 
Had  they  walked  on  to  the  place  of  meeting,  or  had 
they  gone  back  toward  home  ?  Joe  was  in  a  sad 
quandary ;  but  the  last  question  that  came  up 
seemed  to  turn  the  scale  of  his  doubts.  He  con- 
cluded that  Aunt  Judy  was  sick  with  her  exposure, 
and  that  they  had  all  gone  on  their  way  home. 

Without  stopping  to  consider  how  they  could  get 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  79 

along  with  the  burden  of  the  buffalo  and  sleigh 
robe,  he  cracked  his  whip,  and  drove  briskly  on  to- 
ward home.  Poor  Joe  !  the  evening  was  cold,  he 
had  neither  wrapper  nor  buffalo,  and  he  was  going 
the  wrong  way. 

The  company  at  the  Bell  Tavern  was  increasing. 
Several  other  parties  bound  to  the  same  festival, 
had  dropped  in.  Among  them  was  an  eccentric, 
humorous,  impulsive  naval  officer,  of  about  five  and 
twenty,  who,  on  his  way  down,  had  fallen  in  with 
Elder  Stephen,  at  the  neighboring  village.  The 
honest  Shaker,  finding  he  was  to  stop  at  the  "  Sign 
of  the  Bell,"  requested  him  to  take  charge  of  a  little 
shoe,  which  he  had  just  found  among  the  blankets 
in  his  sleigh.  "  It  must  belong,"  said  he,  "  to  one 
of  the  little  women  I  picked  up  on  the  way,  and  left 
at  the  Bell." 

"A  real  Cinderella!"  exclaimed  the  Captain; 
"  and  I'll  find  her,  though  they  hide  her  under  the 
most  obscure  wash-tub  in  the  country." 

The  Elder  wondered  what  he  meant,  but  said 
nothing.  Quietly  resuming  his  seat,  he  drove  on 
towards  the  city,  while  the  enthusiastic  young  offi- 
cer sprang  into  his  sleigh,  and  dashed  down  the  road 
in  eager  anticipation  of  -a  new  adventure. 

When  Captain  Armstrong  arrived  at  the  Bell,  he 
was  ushered  into  the  common  parlor,  where  a  large 
party  was  already  assembled,  preparing  to  start  for 
the  nuptial  festival,  Mary  Morris  was  in  a  sad 


80  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

dilemma,  since  she  was  to  act  as  chief  bridesmaid, 
which  she  could  hardly  do,  becomingly,  with  one 
unslippered  foot.  It  was  arranged  with  her  sisters 
that  she  should  share  with  them,  by  turns,  so  that, 
in  presenting  herself  before  the  altar,  with  the  bride, 
she  should  be  fully  equipped.  She  was  just  arrang- 
ing a  beautiful  Indian  moccasin  upon  the  unfortu- 
nate foot,  as  the  door  opened,  and  the  gallant  cap- 
tain, with  a  flushed  countenance  and  a  profusion  of 
bows,  presented  himself  before  them,  exclaiming, 
"  Cinderella  !  Cinderella  !  where  art  thou,  beauti- 
ful, injured  maiden  ?" 

The  whole  company  were  equally  amazed  and 
amused  by  this  singular  apostrophe.  All  conversa- 
tion ceased  in  an  instant  ;  the  half-adjusted  shawl 
was  left  hanging  carelessly  over  the  arm  ;  the  half- 
tied  hat  fell  back  upon  the  chair  ;  the  half- turned 
curls  hung  in  dishevelled  luxuriousness  upon  the 
blushing  cheek,  and  that  beautiful  moccasin,  scarcely 
drawn  over  the  delicate  foot  of  Cinderella,  still  left 
the  heel  and  ankle  exposed.  All  eyes  were  turned 
upon  the  captain.  Not  at  all  abashed  by  being  the 
object  of  such  curiosity,  the  bold  and  self-possessed 
cavalier  advanced  to  the  midst  of  the  circle,  and  look- 
ing earnestly  at  every  group,  and  every  individual, 
reiterated  his  eager  call  for  Cinderella.  "  Come 
forth  I"  he  said,  "  wherever  thou  art,  under  whatever 
tub  thy  envious  sisters  have  concealed  thee,  come 
forth  1" 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  81 

Peering  carefully  round,  Mary's  half-dressed  foot, 
projecting  from  under  the  ample  folds  of  her  pelisse, 
caught  his  eye.  He  was  instantly  at  her  feet,  and 
before  she  had  recovered  her  self-possession  suffi- 
ciently to  withdraw  the  exposed  foot,  he  had  seized 
the  moccasin,  pulled  it  off,  and  adjusted  the  lost  slip- 
per in  its  place. 

"A  fit — a  perfect  fit!"  he  exclaimed.  "  Cinder- 
ella !  most  lovely,  most  fortunate !  all  the  fairies  be- 
friend thee,  and " 

A  general  burst  of  laughter  from  the  whole  com- 
pany, followed  by  a  furious  blast  of  the  tavern  horn 
as  a  signal  that  it  was  time  to  be  moving,  inter- 
rupted the  gallant  captain  in  his  rhapsody,  and  left 
the  blushing  Mary  to  finish  her  preparations  for  the 
fete. 

The  nuptial  party  was  large,  yet  very  select.  The 
bride  was  beautiful ;  the  bridegroom  splendid  ;  the 
house  was  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  all  things 
were  ready.  But  where  was  Joe  Sands,  the  chief 
groomsman  ? 

The  minister  had  come,  the  bridegroom  had  taken 
the  bride's  hand  to  lead  her  forward  ;  and  Captain 
Armstrong,  by  appointment,  was  about  to  supply 
Joe's  place  in  the  ceremony,  with  Mary  Morris,  the 
Cinderella  of  the  evening,  leaning  on  his  arm,  when 
the  door  flew  open,  and  Sands,  the  veritable  Joe 
Sands,  sprang  in. 

It  was  a  sad  disappontment  to  the  captain,  but 


82  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

he  gracefully  yielded  the  blushing  Mary  to  his  rival, 
and  the  ceremony  went  on. 

When  the  knot  was  tied,  and  while  the  good 
minister  was  greeting  the  fair  bride  with  a  paternal 
kiss,  Joe  began  to  enquire  of  Mary  by  what  means 
they  reached  the  village.  The  story  of  the  overturn, 
the  good  old  Shaker,  and  the  lost  slipper;  afforded  no 
little  mirth,  and  made  Cinderella  the  belle  of  the 
evening. 

But  Judge  Weston,  a  kind-hearted,  fine-looking 
widower  from  Barlow,  to  the  utter  neglect  of  the 
young  girls,  was  taken  with  such  a  sympathy  for 
their  quiet  Aunt  Judy,  and  so  much  moved  with 
fear  lest  she  should  meet  a  similar  accident  on 
the  way  home,  that  he  insisted  upon  taking  her 
into  his  own  carriage ;  "for  I  have  a  very  careful 
driver,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will  see  you  safely  to  your 
own  door." 

Aunt  Judy  accepted  the  offer.  The  evening  was 
unusually  brilliant.  The  ride  was  agreeable  to  all 
parties.  Sands  and  Willis  raced  back  without 
accident  or  adventure.  Captain  Armstrong  looked 
after  them  longingly,  but  was  obliged  to  go  the  other 
way.  What  passed  in  the  Judge's  carriage  was 
shrewdly  conjectured,  but  never  fully  known.  Be- 
fore the  snow  was  gone,  the  worthy  man  had  passed 
that  way  often,  and  never  without  calling  at  Mr. 
Morris'  ;  and  ere  the  spring  had  put  forth  her 
blossoms,  our  beloved  aunt  had  changed  her  name 


TALES     AND     STORIES 


83 


to  Weston,  and  gone  down  to  Barlow,  to  clear  away 
from  the  Judge's  house  the  frost  work  of  a  five 
years'  widowhood,  by  shedding  over  it  again  the 
sunshine  of  home. 


AN  ADVENTURE. 


0  celebrate  his  daughter's  wedding, 
a  merchant  collect^  a  party  of  her 
young  companions.  They  circled 
around  her  ;  wishing  much  happiness  to  the 
youthful  bride  and  her  chosen  one.  Her 
father  gazed  proudly  on  his  lovely  child,  and  hopecl 
that  as  bright  prospects  for  the  future  might  open 
for  the  rest  of  his  children,  who  were  playing  among 
the  guests.  Passing  through  the  hall  of  the  base- 
ment, he  met  a  servant  who  was  carrying  a  lighted 
candle  in  her  hand,  without  a  candlestick.  He 
blamed  her  for  such  conduct,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  see  about  supper.  The  girl  soon  re- 
turned, but  without  the  candle.  The  merchant 


84  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

immediately  recollected  that  several  barrels  of  gun- 
powder had  been  placed  in  the  cellar  during  the  day, 
and  that  one  had  been  opened. 

"  Where  is  your  candle  ?"  he   enquired  in   the 
utmost  alarm. 

"  I  couldn't  bring  it  up  with  me,  for  my  hands 
are  full  of  wood,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Where  did  you  put  it  ?" 

"Well,  I  had  no  candlestick,  so  I  stuck  it  in 
some  black  sand  that's  in  the  small  barrels." 

Her  master  went  down  stairs.  The  passage  was 
long  and  dark,  his  knees  threatened  to  give  way  un- 
der him,  his  breath  was  choked,  his  flesh  seemed  dr}r 
and  parched,  as  if  he  clearly  felt  the  suffocating 
blast  of  death.  At  the  end  of  the  cellar,  under  the 
room  where  his  children  and  their  friends  were  re- 
veling in  felicity,  he  saw  the  open  barrel  of  powder 
full  to  the  top,  the  candlestick  loosely  in  the  grains 
with  a  long  red  snuff  or  burnt  wick.  The  sight 
seemed  to  wither  all  his  powers.  The  laughter  of 
the  company  struck  upon  his  ear  like  the  knell  of 
death.  He  stood  a  moment  unable  to  move.  To  the 
music  above,  the  feet  of  the  dancers  responded  with 
vivacity,  the  floor  shook,  and  the  loose  bottles  in  the 
cellar  jingled  with  the  motion.  He  fancied  the 
candle  moved — was  falling.  With  desperate  ener- 
gy he  sprang  forward.  But  how  to  remove  it — the 
slightest  touch  would  cause  the  red  hot  wick  to  fall 
into  the  powder.  With  unequalled  presence  of 


TALES    AND    STORIES. 


85 


mind  he  placed  a  hand  on  each  side  of  the  candle, 
with  the  open  palm  upwards,  and  the  fingers  point- 
ed towards  the  object  of  his  care,  which,  as  his  hands 
met,  was  secured  in  the  claspings  of  his  fingers,  and 
safely  moved  away  from  its  dangerous  position. 

When  he  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  smil- 
ed at  his  previous  alarm,  but  the  reaction  was  too 
powerful,  and  he  fell  into  fits  of  the  most  violent 
laughter.  He  was  conveyed  to  his  bed  senseless,  and 
many  weeks  elapsed  ere  his  nerves  recovered  sufficient 
tone  to  allow  him  to  resume  his  business. 


86 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


THE  THREE  WISHES. 


HI"  said  George,  "if  I 
'might  choose,  I'd  rather  be  Ju- 
lius Ceesar  than  any  other  tnan 
that  lived  !  He  was  a  fine  fellow, 
he  conquered  all  the  then  known 
world — from  the  pyramids  of  Egypt 
to  the  island  of  Thule — from  the 
most  remote  provinces  of  Asia  Mi- 
nor to  the  western  shores  of  the  Peninsula.  In  ten 
years  only,  he  took  eight  hundred  cities,  subdued 
three  hundred  nations,  and  left  above  a  million  of 
enemies  dead  upon  his  fields  of  battle  !  Now  he  was 
a  hero  !  And  what  a  glorious  thing  it  must  have 
been,  after  subduing  Britons,  Gauls,  Germans,  and 
Russians,  to  return  with  his  triumphant  legions,  la- 
den with  spoil,  and  leading  kings  captive,  a  conquer- 
or in  the  streets  of  Rome  !  I  never  think  of  Julius 
Cassar  without  longing  to  be  a  soldier.  '  He  came — 
he  saw — he  conquered  !'  How  famous  that  was  ! 
i  wish  I  had  lived  in  his  days  ;  or,  better  still,  I 
wish  there  was  another  world  to  conquer,  and  I  was 
the  Julius  CaBSar  to  do  it." 

"Upon  my  word  !"  said  Charles,  "  mighty  grand  ! 


TALES     AND      STOKIES. 


87 


but  if  I  might  choose,  I  would  rather  be  Cicero. 
I'd  rather  be  an  orator  ten  thousand  times  than  a 
warrior,  though  he  were  Julius  Caesar  himself.  Only 
think,  George,  when  you  come  to  die,  how  should 
you  like  to  have  the  blood  of  a  million  of  men  on 
your  conscience  ?  Depend  upon  it,  it's  nut  such  a 
fine  thing  to  be  a  conqueror^  after  all  !  But  an  or- 
ator !  his  is  a  glorious  character  indeed.  He  gains 


victories  over  millions,  without  shedding  one  drop 
of  blood  !  Now  let  us  match  ourselves  one  against 
the  other  ;  you  a  warrior,  I  an  orator — each,  let  us 


88  MERRY'S   B>9  OK   OF 


suppose,  the  most  accomplished  in  the  world.  What 
can  you  do  without  your  legions  and  your  arms  ? 
With  ten  thousand  men  at  your  back,  armed  at  all 
points,  where,  pray,  is  the  wonder  that  you  take 
possession  of  a  city  or  a  country,  weakly  defended 
perhaps,  both  by  men  and  means  ?  But  place  me 
among  savages,  (provided  only  I  can  speak  their 
tongue)  give  me  no  arms  —  no  money  ;  nay,  even 
strip  me  of  my  clothes,  and  leave  me  a  defenceless, 
solitary  being  among  thousands,  and  what  will  fol- 
low p  —  I  will  draw  tears  from  the  strongest  heart 
among  them  ;  —  they  shall  give  me  bread  to  eat, 
clothing  to  wear,  —  they  shall  build  a  house  to  cover 
me,  —  and,  if  my  ambition  extends  so  far,  they  shall 
choose  me  for  their  king  ;  and  this  only  by  the 
words  of  my  mouth.  Now  who,  I  ask  you,  is  most 
powerful,  you  or  I  ? 

"  You  think  it  was  a  glorious  thing  for  Julius 
Caesar  to  pass  with  his  captives  through  the  streets 
of  Home.  I  think  it  was  glorious,  too,  for  Cicero, 
when,  after  having  exposed  and  defeated  the  hor- 
rible conspiracy  of  Cataline,  and  driven  him  from 
Borne,  he  was  borne  by  the  most  honorable  men  of 
the  city  to  his  house,  along  streets  crowded  with 
thousands  of  inhabitants,  all  hailing  him  '  Father 
and  savior  of  his  country  !'  I  wish  I  could  be  a 
Cicero,  and  you  might  be  a  Julius  Ceesar  and  an 
Alexander  the  Great  for  me. 

"  But  come,  William,"  said  he,  addressing  his 


TALES    AND    6TORIES.  89 

other  brother, — "  who  would  you  choose  to  be  ? — 
and  what  argument  can  you  bring  forward  in  favor 
of  your  choice  ?" 

"  I,"  replied  William,  "  would  choose  to  be  John 
Smeaton." 

"  John  Smeaton,"  questioned  Charles  ;  "  and 
pray,  who  in  the  world  was  John  Smeaton  ?" 

"  Bless  me,"  said  George,  "  not  know  John 
Smeaton  !  He  was  a  cobbler,  to  be  sure,  and  wrote 
a  penny  pamphlet,  to  prove  how  superior  wooden 
shoes  are  to  Grecian  sandals  I" 

"  Not  he,  indeed  I"  interrupted  William,  indig- 
nantly ;  "  he  built  the  Eddystone  Lighthouse  !' 

"  0,  yes — yes — to  be  sure  he  did  !  I  wonder 
I  should  forget  it,"  replied  George.  "He  was  a 
stone-mason,  and  had  the  honor  of  building  a  wall  ! 
— Upon  my  word,  sir,  yours  is  a  noble  ambition  ! 
Why,  Smeaton  only  did  what  any  man  might  do  I" 

"  Not  so,  either,  my  good  Julius  Caesar  !"  said 
William.  "There  are  not  ten  men  in  England 
that  could  have  built  that  lighthouse  as  well  as 
Smeaton  did.  It  will  stand  while  the  world  stands. 
It  is  a  noble  proof  of  the  power  and  ingenuity  of 
man.  It  defies  the  almost  omnipotent  ocean  itself, 
and  the  other  elements  can  never  affect  it. 

96  And  now,  George,  consider  Smeaton's  case  with- 
out your  soldierly  prejudices.  Independently  of  his 
work  being  a  masterpiece  of  human  skill,  its  import- 
ance will  not  be  lessened  by  time.  Your  conquests, 


90  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

most  potent  Csesar  !  are  wrested  from  you  in  your 
life-time,  and  your  successor  will  hardly  thank  you 
for  exhausting  your  country's  treasure,  and  reducing 
its  population,  for  a  distant  empire,  which,  as  soon 
as  you  have  left  it,  rises  in  insurrection,  and  almost 
needs  re-conquering.  Every  year,  on  the  contrary, 
makes  that  work  of  Smeaton  additionally  valuable ; 
and  as  the  commerce  of  the  country  increases, 
the  importance  of  that  wall,  as  you  are  pleased  to 
term  it,  increases  also.  There's  not  a  ship  that 
comes  into  the  sea  but  owes  its  preservation, 
in  a  great  measure,  to  that  light-house.  Thous- 
ands of  lives  are  preserved  by  it ;  and,  when 
I  think  of  it  on  a  tempestuous  night,  as  I  often  do, 
shining  out  like  a  star,  when  every  other  star  is  hid- 
den, a  blessing  springs  into  my  heart  on  the  skill  of 
that  man  who,  when  the  endeavor  seemed  hopeless, 
confidently  went  to  work  and  succeeded. 

".But  I'll  tell  you  a  story  now,  about  neither 
Julius  Ca3sar,  Cicero,  nor  John  Smeaton,  and  yet 
which  is  quite  apropos. 

"  There  was,  once  upon  a  time,  a  little  city  that 
stood  by  the  sea.  It  was  very  famous — it  had 
abundance  of  treasure — twenty  thousand  soldiers  to 
defend  its  walls — and  orators  the  most  eloquent  in 
the  world.  You  may  be  sure  it  could  not  exist 
without  enemies  ;  its  wealth,  created  many,  and  its 
pride  provoked  more.  Accordingly,  by  some  Julius 
Caesar  of  those  days  it  was  besieged.  Twelve  thou- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  91 

sand  men  encamped  round  its  walls,  which  extended 
on  three  sides,  and  a  powerful  fleet  blockaded  the 
fourth,  which  lay  open  to  the  sea.  The  inhabitants 
of  this  little  city  felt  themselves  of  course,  amazing- 
ly insulted  by  such  an  attack,  and  determined  im- 
mediately to  drive  their  audacious  enemies  like  chaft 
before  the  wind.  They  accordingly  sallied  out,  but, 
unfortunately,  were  driven  back,  and  were  obliged  to 
shelter  themselves  behind  their  walls.  Seven  times 
this  occurred,  and  the  enemy  had  now  been  seven 
months  encamped  there  :  it  was  a  thing  not  to  be 
borne,  and  a  council  was  called  in  the  city. 

" '  Fight !  fight  !'  cried  the  orators  ;  (  fight  for 
your  homes — for  the  graves  of  your  fathers — for  the 
temples  of  your  gods  !'  But  in  seven  defeats  the 
soldiers  had  been  reduced  to  ten  thousand,  and  the 
people  were  less  enthusiastic  about  fighting  than  the 
orators  expected.  Just  then  a  poor  man  came  for- 
ward, and  stepping  upon  the  rostrum  begged  to  pro- 
pose three  things  ; — first,  a  plan  by  which  the  ene- 
my might  be  annoyed  !  second,  a  means  of  supply- 
ing the  city  with  fresh  water,  of  which  it  began  to 
be  much  in  need  ;  third — but  scarcely  had  he  named 
a  third,  when  the  impatient  orators  bade  him  hold 
bis  peace,  and  the  soldiers  thrust  him  out  of  the  as- 
sembly, as  a  cowardly  proser,  who  thought  the  city 
could  be  assisted  any  way,  except  by  the  use  of  arms. 
The  people  seeing  him  so  thrust  forth,  directly  con- 
cluded that  he  had  proposed  some  dishonorable 


92  MERRY' s  BOOK  OF 

means — perhaps  had  been  convicted  of  a  design  to 
betray  the  city  ;  they  therefore  joined  the  outcry  of 
the  soldiers,  and  pursued  him  with  many  insults  to 
his  humble  dwelling,  which  they  were  ready  to  burn 
over  his  head. 

"  Now  this  poor  man,  who  had  never  in  all  his 
life  wielded  a  sword,  and  who  had  no  ambition  to  do 
so,  and  who  was  but  an  indifferent  speaker,  was 
nevertheless  a  wise  mathematician,  and  had  wonder- 
ful skill  in  every  mechanical  science  then  known, 
which  -he  had  the  ability,  as  is  common  with  such 
men,  to  apply  admirably  to  every  emergency.  But 
he  might  as  well  have  had  no  science  at  all,  for  any 
respect  it  won  him  ;  and  though  he  was  a  little  cha- 
grined that  his  well-meant  proposition  had  met  no 
better  reception,  he  shut  to  his  doors,  sat  down  in 
his  house,  and  turned  over  his  schemes  in  his  head, 
till  he  was  more  sure  than  ever  of  their  success.  In 
the  meantime  the  enemy  brought  up  monstrous  bat- 
tering-rams, crow-feet,  balistse,  and  all  kinds  of 
dreadful  engines  for  the  demolishing  of  the  walls, 
setting  fire  to  the  houses,  and  otherwise  distressing 
the  inhabitants.  A  thousand  men  were  despatched 
to  cut  down  a  neighboring  forest,  from  the  trees  of 
which  they  began  to  build  immense  wooden  towers, 
whence  they  could  sling  masses  of  rock  into  the  city. 
There  was  a  deafening  noise  all  day  and  all  night 
without  the  walls,  of  deadly  preparation.  The  dis- 
tress of  the  besieged  was  now  intolerable,  and  a  truce 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  93 

was  eagerly  desired.  A  deputation,  therefore,  of  the 
most  honorable  citizens,  headed  by  the  most  elo- 
quent orators,  and  preceded  by  a  herald  bearing  a 
white  flag,  went  to  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  The 
orators  addressed  them  in  the  most  powerful,  and, 
as  they  thought,  most  soul-touching  words  ;  they 
craved  only  a  truce  of  seven  days  ;  but  their  words 
fell  like  snow-flakes  upon  a  rock  ;  they  moved  no 
heart  to  pity,  and  the  orators  were  sent  back  to  their 
city  with  many  marks  of  ignominy.  '  Go  back/  said 
they,  'and  our  answer  shall  reach  the  city  before 
you  do/  Accordingly  every  machine  was  put  in 
motion.  Arrows,  hurled  by  the  balistee,  fell  into 
the  streets  like  hail,  and  ponderous  stones,  falling 
upon  the  buildings,  threatened  destruction  to  all. 
The  rest  of  that  day  the  inhabitants  kept  within 
their  houses,  for  there  was  no  security  in  the  streets, 
nor,  it  must  be  confessed,  much  within  doors.  The 
next  day,  when  the  enemy  a  little  relaxed  their  ef- 
forts, the  people  ventured  out,  but  nothing  was 
heard  save  lamentations  and  murmurs. 

"( We  have  no  bread/  said  the  people  ;  cwe  are 
dying  of  thirst ;  the  little  corn  that  remains,  and  a 
few  skeleton  cattle  are  reserved  for  the  soldiers, 
while  we  are  perishing  in  the  streets  !  We  will 
open  the  gates  to  the  enemy  rather  than  see  our 
children  die  thus  before  our  eyes !' 

"  Upon  this  the  orators  again  came  forth.  It 
WP*"  now  no  use  mounting  the  rostrum,  the  people 


94  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

were  sullen,  and  would  not  assemble  to  hear  them  ; 
they  therefore  came  into  the  streets,  and  poured 
forth  their  patriotic  harangues  to  the  murmuring 
thousands  that  stood  doggedly  together.  '  Will 
ye/  they  exclaimed,  'give  up  the  city  of  your 
fathers'  glory  to  their  bitterest  enemies  ?  Speak  ! 
— will  ye,  can  ye  do  it  ?'  And  the  people  held  up 
their  pale  and  famishing  children,  saying,  l  These 
are  our  answer — these  shall  speak  for  us  \' 

"  Just  at  that  moment,  the  poor  man,  filled  with 
compassion  for  his  townspeople  and  suffering  from 
want  equal  to  their  own,  stepped  forward.  f  Fellow- 
townspeople/  said  he,  '  listen  !  There  is  no  need 
for  us  and  our  children  to  die  of  hunger  ; — there  is 
no  need  for  us  to.  deliver  up  the  city.  Only  do  as  I 
say,  and  we  shall  have  plenty  of  provision,  and  may 
drive  our  enemies  to  !he  four  winds/ 

"  '  What  would  you  have  us  do  ?'  asked  the  peo- 
pie. 

"  '  Why/  said  he,  '  for  every  engine  that  the  en- 
emy brings,  bring  out  one  also  :  defy  their  battering- 
rams — disable  their  crow-feet — sink  a  shaft  to  the 
river,  and*  have  water  in  plenty  !  Give  me  but 
seven  days,  three  brave  men,  and  the  means  I  shall 
ask,  and  I  will  pass  through  the  enemy's  fleet,  visit 
the  cities  which  are  friendly  to  us,  and  return  with 
provisions  to  stand  out  the  siege  yet  ten  months 
longer/ 

"  Try  him  !  try  him  !'  said  they  ;  '  we  cannot  be 
worse  than  we  are/ 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  95 

"  There  was  an  instant  re-action  in  favor  of  the 
poor  man  ;  all  fell  to  work  at  his  bidding  ; — every 
smith's  shop  rang  with  the  sound  of  hammers  ; — 
carpenters  worked  all  day  and  all  night  construct- 
ing machines  which  were  enigmas  to  them.  There 
was  such  a  hum  of  business  for  two  whole  days,  that 
the  enemy  c'ould  not  imagine  what  was  going  for- 
wa.rd.  In  a  short  time  all  was  ready.  A  huge  ma- 
chine, the  height  of  the  walls,  was  raised,  furnished 
with  a  tremendous  pair  of  iron  shears  ;  and  no  sooner 
had  the  enormous  crow-foot  of  the  enemy  reared 
itself  to  pull  down  a  part  of  the  wallj  than  the 
shears,  catching  hold  of  it,  snapped  it  in  two. 

"  A  roar  of  applause  echoed  through  the  city,  and 
this  first  successful  effort  assured  them  all.  The 
poor  man  at  once  obtained  the  confidence  of  the 
city  ;  all  the  enemy's  deadly  machines  he  counter- 
acted ;  he  set  fire  to  their  immense  wooden  tower 
by  balls  of  inflammable  matter,  which  he  flung  in 
at  night  ;  and  these  exploding  suddenly,  with  hor- 
rible cracking  and  hissings,  terrified  the  enemy  al- 
most out  of  their  senses,  and  bursting  up  into  vol- 
cano-like fires,  threatened  to  consume  not  only  the 
tower  but  the  very  camp  itself.  While  this  was 
doing  the  poor  man  and  his  three  colleagues  passed 
through  the  fleet  in  the  twilight,  in  a  small  vessel 
constructed  for  the  purpose,  which  floating  on  the 
surface  of  the  water,  looked  only  like  a  buoy  loosen- 
ed from  its  hold.  No  sooner  were  they  outside  the 


96  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

fleet  than  they  cut  away  one  of  the  enemy's  large 
boats  that  lay  moored  on  the  shore  ;  and,  hoisting 
full  sail,  by  help  of  a  favorable  wind  and  good  row- 
ing, they  arrived  by  the  end  of  the  next  day  at  a 
friendly  city.  There  they  soon  obtained  supplies,— 
corn,  salted  meat,  fresh-killed  cattle,  and  everything 
of  which  they  stood  in  need.  A  large  vessel  was 
immediately  stored  and  properly  manned  ;  her  hull 
was  blackened,  so  were  her  masts  and  sails,  and  by 
good  rowing,  she  reached  the  outside  of  the  harbor 
by  the  next  evening.  There  they  waited  till  it  was 
quite  dark,  and  then  with  every  oar  muffled,  silent- 
ly as  the  fall  of  night,  yet  swiftly  as  a  bird,  they 
passed  through  the  midst  of  the  fleet  without  being 
detected  ;  and  by  the  next  daybreak  the  vessel  lay 
moored  upon  the  quay  of  the  city. 

"  That,  indeed,  was  a  morning  of  triumph  !  Men, 
women,  and  children,  thronged  down  in  thousands. 
Food  was  abundant ;  they  all  ate  and  were  satisfied. 
But  the  extent  of  the  poor  man's  service  was  not 
known  when  they  merely  satisfied  their  hunger  ; — 
he  had  induced  the  friendly  city  to  send  yet  further 
supplies,  with  a  fleet  which  should  not  only  attack 
the  enemy's  ships,  but  land  a  body  of  soldiers  whose 
object  would  be  to  fall  suddenly  upon  the  camp  in 
the  rear,  while  the  soldiers  in  the  city  made  a  sally 
on  the  front.  Accordingly,  the  next  day,  the  sea 
outside  the  harbor  was  covered  with  ships.  The  en- 
emy was  in  great  consternation.  All  fell  out  as  the 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  97 

poor  man  had  foreseen.  After  very  little  fighting, 
the  enemy  had  permission  to  retire,  leaving  as  hos- 
tages three  of  their  principal  men,  till  an  amount  of 
treasure  was  sent  in  which  quite  made  up  the  losses 
of  the  siege. 

"  As  you  may  suppose,  after  this,  nohody  thought 
they  could  sufficiently  honor  the  poor  man ;  his 
deeds  were  written  in  the  annals  of  the  city,  and 
ever  after  he  was  universally  called  '  the  savior  of 
his  country/ 

"  And  so  you  see,  the  poor  man,  by  his  science 
and  skill,  could  do  more  for  his  city  than  either  sol- 
diers or  orators." 

"  Upon  my  word/'  said  both  the  brothers  in  the 
same  breath,  "  there's  truth  in  it." 


98 


M  ER  R Y    S     BOOK     OF 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF   THE  STORK-CALIF. 

CHAPTER   I. 


T  was  on  one  fine  summer's 
evening,  Chasid,  the  calif  of 
Bagdad,  was  lazily  reclining 
;  upon  his  sofa.  After  having 
§  slept  awhile,  for  it  was  ex- 
ceedingly warm,  the  calit 
awoke  in  a  very  good  humor. 
He  was  smoking  from  a  long 
rosewood  pipe,  drinking,  at 
intervals,  the  fragrant  coffee  which  a  slave  held  for 
him  ;  and  while  tasting  it,  he  stroked,  with  an  air 
of  great  satisfaction,  his  long,  fine  beard.  In  short, 
any  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  the  calif  was  in  a 
happy  frame  of  mind. 

At  such  times,  his  highness  appeared  very  affable, 
and  exhibited  much  condescension  and  kindness  even 
to  the  lowest  of  his  subjects  who  brought  any  busi- 
ness to  him.  Therefore  this  was  the  hour  that 
Manzour,  his  grand  vizier,  had  selected  to  pay  his 
daily  visit  to  him.  The  grand  vizier  came  this  day 
as  usual  to  the  palace  ;  but,  what  was  very  unusual 
with  him,  his  countenance  wore  a  very  serious 
aspect. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  99 

"  Ah,  why  do  you  have  such  a  sober  countenance, 
grand  vizier  ?"  said  the  surprised  calif,  taking  for  an 
instant  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  vizier,  crossing  his  arms 
upon  his  breast,  and  bowing  very  low,  "  I  was  not 
conscious  that  my  countenance  betrayed,  in  spite  of 
myself,  the  secret  thoughts  of  my  heart ;  but  I  just 
now  saw,  as  I  entered  here,  a  Jew  who  was  display- 
ing such  fine  merchandize,  that  I  confess  to  you  that 
I  was  much  vexed  that  I  had  not  more  money." 

The  calif,  who  had  sought  for  a  long  time  for 
some  opportunity  of  bestowing  a  favor  upon  his 
grand  vizier,  for  whom  he  had  a  real  affection,  made 
a  sign  to  one  of  his  slaves  to  go  and  bring  the  mer- 
chant. 

The  Jew  came  as  soon  as  he  was  commanded. 
He  was  a  little  man,  with  a  dusky  skin,  and  a  nose 
shriveled  and  crooked,  his  upper  lip  thin,  and  turned 
upon  either  side  by  two  large  yellow  teeth,  the  only 
ones  that  remained  in  his  mouth.  His  little  green, 
serpent-looking  eyes  glittered  like  fire  under  his 
heavy  eyebrows.  As  soon  as  he  appeared  before  the 
calif,  he  touched  the  floor  with  his  forehead,  and 
advanced  as  if  he  were  crawling,  while,  with  the 
appearance  of  smiling,  he*  displayed  the  most  fright- 
ful grin  that  ever  spread  itself  upon  a  human  coun- 
tenance. He  carried  before  him,  suspended  by  a 
large  strap  which  hung  from  his  crooked  shoulders, 
a  box  of  sandal-wood,  in  which  were  packed  all 


100  MERRY'S    BOOK   OF 

kinds  of  precious  wares,  which  his  black,  hairy  hand 
displayed  to  the  eyes  of  his  customers  with  the  skill- 
ful cunning  of  a  true  son  of  Judea. 

There  were  pearls  of  Ophir,  hung  in  ear-rings, 
gold  rings,  studded  with  diamonds,  which  the  eye 
could  scarcely  look  at,  so  great  was  their  brilliancy ; 
also  richly  wrought  pistols,  onyx  stones,  ivory  combs, 
inlaid  with  gold,  and  a  thousand  other  jewels  not 
less  rare  and  costly.  After  having  examined  them 
all,  the  calif  bought  for  Manzour,  and  for  himself, 
magnificent  pistols,  and  for  the  wife  of  his  vizier,  a 
wrought  silver  comb,  surrounded  with  a  crown  of 
fine  pearls,  which  made  it  the  richest  and  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  world. 

As  the  merchant  was  about  closing  his  box,  the 
calif,  who  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  from  it,  dis- 
covered a  little  drawer  which  had  not  been  opened, 
and  asked  if  he  had  not  some  other  jewels  there. 
The  merchant  opened  the  little  apartment  which 
the  calif  pointed  out,  and  took  from  it  a  kind  of 
snuff-box,  containing  a  black  powder  wrapped  in  a 
paper,  written  over  with  singular  characters,  of 
which  neither  Chasid  nor  Manzour  could  decipher  a 
single  word. 

"  This  box  came  to  me,"  said  the  Jew,  "  from  a 
merchant  who  had  found  it  in  the  road  going  to 
Mecca.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  ;  however,  it  is  at 
your  service,  if  you  wish  for  it.  I  know  nothing  at 
all  about  it." 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  101 

The  calif,  although  very  ignorant,  gladly  collected 
in  the  shelves  of  his  library  all  kinds  of  curiosities 
and  old  parchments.  He  bought  the  snuff-box  and 
the  manuscript,  and  dismissed  the  merchant,  who 
walked  out  backward,  bowing  as  low  as  when  he 
entered. 

Chasid  contemplated  joyfully  his  acquisition  ;  but 
not,  however,  without  earnestly  wishing  that  he 
knew  what  was  signified  by  the  writing  on  the  paper^ 
which  he  turned  over  mechanically  in  his  hands. 

"  Do  you  not  know  any  person  who  can  read  to 
me  this  writing  ?"  said  he,  at  lafct,  to  his  grand 
vizier. 

"  Most  gracious  lord/'  replied  the  latter,  "  1  know 
a  man,  just  opposite  the  grand  mosque,  who  is  called 
Selim  the  Learned.  He  understands,  they  say,  all 
languages.  Send  some  one  to  seek  him  ;  perhaps  he 
can  explain  these  mysterious  characters." 

Two  slaves  were  sent  to  find  Selim  the  Learned, 
with  orders  to  bring  him  there  immediately. 

"  Selim,"  said  the  calif  to  him  as  he  entered,  "  I 
am  told  that  you  are  versed  in  the  knowledge  of  all 
languages.  Examine  this  writing,  and  see  if  you 
can  read  it.  If  you  can  explain  it  to  me,  I  will  give 
you  a  holiday  dress  entirely  new  ;  but  if  you  are 
unable  to  read  it,  you  shall  be  beaten  with  twelve 
blows  and  twenty-five  strokes  upon  the  soles  of  your 
feet,  for  having  usurped  *the  noble  name  of  "The 
Learned." 


102  MERRY' s    BOOK    OF 

Selim  bowed,  and  replied,  "Let  your  will  be 
done,  master/'  Then  he  considered  attentively  the 
writing  which  had  been  given  him.  Suddenly  he 
exclaimed,  "  It  is  Latin,  my  lord,  or  may  I  be 
hanged  !" 

"  Well,  Latin  or  Greek,  tell  us  quickly  what  is 
there,"  said  the  calif,  impatiently. 

Selim  hastened  to  translate  it,  and  read  thus  : 
"  Whoever  thou  art  who  findest  this  article,  thank 
Allah  for  the  favor  he  has  deigned  to  give  thee. 
He  who  takes  a  pinch  of  the  powder  contained  in 
this  box,  and  says  at  the  same  time,  MUTABOR 
(I  will  be  changed,)  the  same  shall  be  changed, 
according  to  his  own  desire,  into  whatever  animal  he 
pleases,  and  shall  also  understand  the  ideas  which 
those  animals  communicate  in  their  language.  If 
he  shall  wish  again  to  return  to  the  human  form, 
let  him  bow  three  times  towards  the  East  while 
pronouncing  the  same  word,  and  the  charm  is  broken. 
Only  beware,  oh,  thou  who  attemptest  this  ordeal — 
beware  of  laughing  while  thou  art  changed  ! — 
Otherwise  the  magic  word  will  irrecoverably  escape 
from  thy  memory,  and  thou  wilt  be  condemned  to 
remain  forever  in  the  race  of  animals." 

As  soon  as  Selim  had  finished  the  translation  of 
the  cabalistic  paper,  the  calif  experienced  such  a 
degree  of  pleasure,  that  he  could  hardly  contain 
himself.  After  having  nfade  the  wise  man  swear 
never  to  reveal  to  any  person  the  secret  which  he 


TALES    AND     STORIES.  103 

possessed,  he  hastened  to  send  him  away,  but  not 
before  he  had  clothed  him  with  a  magnificent  robe 
of  silk,  which  added  not  a  little  to  the  respect  which 
Selim  the  Learned  already  enjoyed  in  Bagdad. 

He  had  hardly  departed  when  the  calif  gave  him- 
self up  to  his  joy.  "  This  is  what  I  call  a  famous 
bargain,"  exclaimed  he.  "  What  pleasure,  my  dear 
Manzour,  to  be  able  to  be  changed  into  an  animal  ! 
To-morrow  morning,  you  come  and  find  me  ;  we 
will  go  together  into  the  fields  ;  we  will  take  my 
precious  snuff-box,  and  then  we  shall  understand  all 
that  is  spoken  and  sung,  whispered  and  murmured, 
in  the  air  and  in  the  water,  in  the  woods  and  in  the 
fields." 

CHAPTER   II. 

THE  night  seemed  very  long  to  the  impatient 
calif.  At  length  the  morning  dawned,  and 
immediately,  to  the  great  surprise  of  his  slaves, 
Chasid  rose  from  his  bed.  He  had  scarcely  taken 
his  breakfast  and  dressed,  when  his  grand  vizier 
presented  himself,  as  he  had  been  commanded,  to 
accompany  him  in  his  walk. 

Without  any  delay,  the  calif  slipped  into  his 
girdle  the  magic  snuff-box  ;  and,  taking  the  arm  of 
his  vizier,  after  having  commanded  his  attendants  to 
wait  behind,  he  commenced  immediately,  in  com- 
pany with  his  faithful  Manzour,  this  venturesome 
expedition. 


104 


MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 


They  walked  through  the  large  gardens  of  the 
palace,  but  in  vain ;  they  did  not  meet  a  single 
thing  upon  which  to  try  their  magic  skill.  At  last, 
the  grand  vizier  proposed  to  go  farther,  to  a  pond, 
where  he  had  often  seen,  he  said,  many  animals  of 


various  kinds,  and  especially  some  storks,  whose 
awkward  gait  and  singular  chuckings  had  always 
arrested  his  attention.  The  calif  gladly  agreed  to 
the  proposal  of  his  vizier,  and  they  both  proceeded 
towards  the  indicated  way.  Just  as  they  reached 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  105 

the  borders  of  the  pond,  our  two  friends  perceived 
an  old  stork  walking  slowly,  to  and  fro,  hunting  for 
frogs,  and  muttering,  I  know  not  what,  with  his 
long  beak  ;  and  at  the  same  time  they  noticed  in 
the  air,  at  a  great  height,  another  of  these  birds, 
whose  flight  appeared  to  be  directed  toward  that 
side. 

"  I  will  wager  my  beard,  gracious  lord,"  said  the 
vizier,  "  that  these  two  birds  are  going  to  converse 
with  each  other.  What  say  you  ?  Shall  we  change 
ourselves  into  storks  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  calif;  "but 
first  let  us  recall  the  way  by  which  we  can  become 
men  again." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,"  said  the  vizier,  in  a  bold 
voice  ;  "  we  must  bo\JWhrice  toward  the  East  while 
saying  '  MUTABOB/  " 

"  And  I  shall  become  the  calif,  and  you  the 
vizier/'  interrupted  the  calif.  "  But  we  must  not 
laugh  ;  for  if  we  do,  we  are  certainly  lost." 

While  the  calif  was  speaking,  they  distinctly 
perceived,  soaring  above  their  heads,  and  gradually 
descending  toward  the  earth,  the  stork,  which  at 
first  seemed  only  a  black  spot  in  the  sky.  Unable 
to  wait  longer,  he  quickly  drew  the  snuff-box  from 
his  girdle  ;  he  took  from  it  a  large  pinch — then, 
presenting  it  to  his  vizier,  who  did  the  same,  they 
both  exclaimed,  "  MUTABOR  !" 

The  magic  word  was  scarcely  spoken,  when  their 


106  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

legs  shriveled  up  and  became  slim  and  brown.  At 
the  same  instant,  the  beautiful  yellow  slippers  of 
the  calif,  and  those  of  his  companion,  turned  into 
the  ugly  feet  of  a  stork  ;  their  arms  became  wings, 
their  necks  shot  out  an  ell  above  their  shoulders  ; 
and,  finally,  to  complete  the  change,  their  beards 
varnished,  and  their  bodies  were  covered  with  soft 
hair. 

"  You  have  a  very  fine  beak,  sir,"  cried  the  calif, 
arousing  from  his  great  surprise.  "  By  the  beard  of 
the  Prophet !  I  have  never  seen  any  thing  equal  to 
this." 

"  I  thank  you  very  respectfully,''  replied  the  grand 
vizier,  bending  his  long  neck ;  "  but  if  I  may  be 
allowed,  I  would  say  to  your  highness  that,  for  my 
part,  it  seems  to  have  a  rat*  better  appearance  in 
a  stork  than  in  a  calif." 

"  Flatterer,"  said  the  calif,  "  the  metamorphosis 
has  not  changed  you." 

"  No,  indeed,"  declared  the  vizier,  with  the  great- 
est seriousness,  "I  have  told  you  only  the  truth. 
But  come  a  little,  if  you  please,  toward  the  side  of 
our  comrades,  and  let  us  see  if  we  know  truly  how 
to  speak  like  a  stork." 

While  they  had  been  thus  conversing,  the  stork 
had  reached  the  ground.  After  having  carefully 
cleaned  her  feet,  and  arranged  her  feathers  by  means 
of  her. beak,  she  advanced  towards  the  hunter  of 
frogs,  who  was  continuing  still  the  same  employ- 


TALES     AND      STORIES.  107 

ment.  The  calif  and  his  vizier  hastened  to  join 
them — and  I  leave  you  to  imagine  what  was  their 
astonishment  on  hearing  the  following  dialogue  : 

"  Good-morning,  Madam  Longshanks — if,  indeed, 
it  is  morning  upon  the  earth." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Miss  Pretty  Bill. 
I  was  just  going  to  fish  for  a  little  breakfast,  which 
I  shall  be  very  much  honored  if  you  will  take  with 
me.  A  quarter  of  a  lizard,  or  a  leg  of  a  frog,  will, 
perhaps,  agree  with  you." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  ;  but  I  have  no  appetite  : 
I  have  come  to  this  field  for  another  purpose.  I  am 
to  dance  this  evening  at  a  great  ball  which  my 
father  gives,  and  I  wish  to  practice  a  little  by  my- 
self." 

Saying  thus,  the  yoifcg  stork  began  to  leap  about 
and  to  describe  upon  the  field  the  most  grotesque 
figures.  The  calif  and  the  grand  vizier  gazed  upon 
everything  with  staring  eyes  and  wide-open  beaks, 
hardly  able  to  repress  their  astonishment.  But 
when  the  young  dancer,  in  the  last  figure,  stood 
upon  one  foot  in  the  position  of  a  sylph,  bending 
her  body,  and  flapping  gracefully  her  wings,  they 
could  not  restrain  themselves  any  longer.  A  loud 
laugh  burst  from  them,  so  powerful  and  so  irresist- 
ible, that  it  was  some  time  before  they  could  con- 
trol it. 

The  calif  spoke  first.  "  Truly,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  this  is  a  good  jest,  a  fine  amusement.  It  is  only 


108  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

too  bad  that  those  foolish  birds  were  frightened  at 
our  laughter  ;  had  it  not  been  for  that,  they  were 
just  going  to  sing." 

Just  then  the  vizier  remembered  that  laughing 
was  strictly  forbidden  during  their  metamorphosis, 
under  the  penalty  of  forever  remaining  a  beast,  and 
this  thought  hushed  his  gayety  ;  his  countenance 
became  pale  ;  he  imparted  to  the  calif  his  trouble. 

"  I  declare,"  exclaimed  the  calif,  i '  by  Mecca  and 
Medina  !  this  will  be  a  very  bad  joke  if  I  have  got 
to  be  a  stork.  But  stop  ;  let  us  think  a  little  what 
we  must  do  to  change  ourselves.  I  have  not  the 
least  idea." 

"  We  must  bow  thrice  toward  the  east,"  replied 
the  vizier,  quickly  ;  <c  saying  at  the  same  time,  Mu 
— Mu — Mu — what  is  the  wgpl  ?  But  let  us  try — 
perhaps  it  will  come  to  us." 

So  the  two  storks  saluted  the  sun,  and  bowed  so 
low  that  their  long  beaks  grazed  the  earth.  But 
oh,  miserable  ones  !  the  magic  word  had  fled  from 
their  memory.  In  vain  the  calif  bowed  and  bowed 
again  ;  in  vain  Manzour  exhausted  himself  in  crying 
Mu — Mu — Mu.  They  had  both  of  them  lost  the 
remembrance  of  the  last  syllables. 

And  now,  indeed,  the  unhappy  Chasid  and  his 
unfortunate  vizier  were  changed  into  storks,  and 
remained  in  a  feathered  condition  much  longer  than 
they  had  wished. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  109 


CHAPTER    III. 

OUR  two  poor  unfortunate  beings  wandered  slow- 
ly about  the  fields,  their  brain  wearied  with  the 
endeavors  they  had  made  to  break  the  charm  which 
held  them  captives,  and  in  their  misery  they  knew 
not  what  to  do.  For  an  instant  they  bethought 
themselves  of  returning  to  the  city,  and  to  endeavor 
to  make  themselves  known.  But  who  would  believe 
that  a  mean  stork  was  the  renowned  calif  Chasid  ? 
And  even  if  it  were  believed,  would  the  inhabitants 
of  Bagdad  allow  themselves  to  be  governed  by  a 
prince  of  so  strange  an  appearance  ? 

Thus  they  wandered  many  days,  barely  subsisting 
upon  wild  fruits,  which  they  could  scarcely  swallow 
on  account  of  their  long  beaks.  As  to  the  lizards 
and  frogs  which  their  new  companions  were  so  fond 
of,  they  thought  them  scarcely  suitable  for  a  royal 
diet,  and  moreover  they  feared  the  results  of  such 
articles  of  food  in  their  stomach.  The  only  pleasure 
left  them  in  their  sad  situation,  was  the  faculty  of 
flying,  which  they  with  the  rest  had  so  dearly 
bought ;  so  they  often  flew  to  the  high  towers  of 
Bagdad,  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  city. 

The  first  time  that  they  resorted  there,  the  people 
collected  in  the  streets,  exhibited  a  scene  of  great 
disquietude  mixed  with  deep  grief.  This  rent  the 
heart  of  the  poor  vizier.  But  the  fourth  day  after 


110  MERRY'S    BOOK    OP 

their  transformation,  as  our  two  birds  were  just 
lighting  upon  a  tower  in  the  calif's  palace,  behold  ! 
suddenly  they  perceived  a  magnificent  procession, 
which  marched  through  the  streets  to  the  joyous 
flourish  of  trumpets  and  drums.  Mounted  upon  a 
horse  splendidly  equipped,  which  Chasid  recognized, 
under  its  velvet  trappings,  as  his  own  favorite  ani- 
mal, a  man  clothed  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  embroidered 
with  gold,  rode  triumphantly,  surrounded  with  a 
body-guard  in  brilliant  costumes,  and  half  of  Bagdad 
bowed  before  him,  crying,  "  Hail,  Mezia  !  hail  to  the 
king  of  Bagdad  1" 

At  this  moment  the  two  storks,  who  were  perched 
upon  the  top  of  the  palace,  looked  at  each  other, 
and  Chasid  spoke  : 

"  Do  you  not  now  understand  the  cause  of  our 
transformation,  grand  vizier  ?  This  Mezia  is  the 
son  of  my  deadliest  enemy,  the  powerful  magician 
Kaschnur,  who  in  an  evil  hour  swore  an  implacable 
hatred  against  me.  But  I  have  not  yet  lost  all 
hope.  Let  us  go  to  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet,  and 
perhaps  the  influence  of  that  sacred  place  will  be 
able  to  break  the  charm." 

The  two  storks  then  left  the  tower  of  the  palace, 
and  set  out  for  the  coast  of  Medina.  • 

The  poor  birds  did  their  best  to  regulate  their 
flying  with  each  other,  but  this  was  not  easy,  for 
they  had  had  so  little  practice. 

"  My  lord,"  sighed  the  grand  vizier,  after  a  couple 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


Ill 


of  hours,  "  pardon  me,  but  I  can  not  hold  myself  up 
any  longer  ;  you  fly  too  high  for  me.  It  is  already 
late,  and  it  will  be  prudent,  I  think,  to  seek  a  rest- 
ing place  for  the  night." 

Chasid  was  a  kind  prince  ;  he  heard  with  a  com- 
passionate ear  the  entreaty  of  his  grand  vizier,  and 
immediately  he  directed  his  flight  to  some  ruins 
which  they  had  just  discovered  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley. 

This  place  which  our  two  birds  sought,  had  for- 


merly l)een  occupied  as  avast  castle.  Beautiful  and 
lofty  columns,  which  rose  here  and  there  in  the 
midst  of  the  ruins,  and  many  parlors  still  well  pre- 
served, bore  wit  tess  to  the  former  magnificence  of 
the  place.  Chasid  and  his  companion  were  wander- 


112  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

ing  around  a  labyrinth  of  immense  corridors,  seeking 
some  little  place  for  a  shelter,  when  suddenly  the 
stork  Manzour  stood  still  as  if  petrified. 

"  Master,"  whispered  the  vizier,  in  a  faint  voice, 
"  if  it  were  not  very  foolish  for  a  prime  minister, 
and  still  more  for  a  stork  to  be  afraid  of  phantoms, 
I  would  confess  that  I  am  really  frightened  ;  some- 
thing has  breathed  and  groaned  near  us." 

The  calif  stopped  to  listen,  and  heard  a  light  sob, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  a  human  being  rather 
than  from  an  animal.  Full  of  anxiety,  he  wished  to 
proceed  immediately  to  the  place  whence  these 
plaintive  sounds  issued,  but  the  prudent  vizier  catch- 
ing him  by  the  end  of  his  wing  entreated  him  not  to 
rush  into  new  and  unknown  dangers.  But  in  vain. 
The  calif,  who  bore  a  brave  heart  under  the  plumage 
of  a  stork,  tore  himself  from  the  beak  of  his  vizier, 
and,  without  hesitation,  plunged  headlong  into  a 
dark  corridor. 

He  was  not  delayed  by  a  gate  which  seemed  sim- 
ply closed,  and  beyond  which  came  to  him  still  more 
distinctly  the  repeated  sobs  and  groans.  Chasid 
continued  resolutely  to  advance,  but  he  had  scarcely 
entered  the  gate,  when  surprise  chained  him  to  the 
threshold. 

In  one  of  the  chambers  in  the  ruin  which  was 
lighted  by  a  little  grated  window,  he  just  perceived, 
retired  in  the  remotest  corner,  an  enormous  owl. 
Large  tears  stood  in  her  great  yellow  eyes,  and  sti- 


TALES    AND    STORIES 


113 


fled  sobs  escaped  from  her  crooked  beak.  But  in 
spite  of  the  grief  which  seemed  to  overwhelm  her,  she 
could  not  refrain  from  uttering  a  cry  of  joy  at  the 
sight  of  the  calif  and  his  companion  who  had  rejoin- 
ed him.  She  gracefully  wiped  away,  with  her  spot- 
ted wings,  the  tears  which  filled  her  eyes,  and  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  the  two  adventurers,  she  cried 
out  in  good  Arabic — 

"  Welcome,  dear  birds  ;  you  are  to  me  the  delight- 
ful presage  of  my  speedy  deliverance,  for  it  was 
once  predicted  that  storks  should  bring  great  happi- 
ness to  me." 


114  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

As  soon  as  the  calif  had  recovered  from  the  sur- 
prise which  the  sight  of  this  strange  apparition  had 
caused,  he  bowed  courteously  with  his  long  beak, 
and  raising  himself  as  well  as  he  could  upon  his 
slender  legs,  he  replied, 

"  Madam  owl,  after  what  you  have  said,  I  think 
I  am  not  mistaken  in  seeing  in  you  a  person  whose 
misfortunes  seem  to  have  much  resemblance  to  our 
own.  But,  alas  !  the  hope  which  you  cherish  of  ob- 
taining your  deliverance  through  us,  seems  to  me  in 
vain  ;  and  you  may  shortly  know  for  yourself  the  ex- 
tent of  our  helplessness,  if  you  will  deign  to  listen  to 
our  history." 

The  owl  having  politely  entreated  him  to  relate  it, 
the  calif,  who  prided  himself  upon  his  fine  speaking, 
commenced  the  relation  of  his  misfortunes,  with 
which  we  are  already  acquainted. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

WHEN  the  calif  had  finished  his  story,  the  owl 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Hear  now  my  history,  and  see  if  my  misfortune  is 
not  fully  equal  to  yours.  My  father  is  one  of 
the  most  powerful  kings  of  India,  and  I,  his  only 
and  too  unfortunate  daughter,  was  formerly  called 
the  Princess  Lnsa.  The  same  magician  who  trans- 
formed you,  also  plunged  me  into  my  misfortune. 
Belying  upon  the  terror  which  his  infamous  science 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  115 

usually  inspires,  he  dared  to  come  one  day  to  my 
father's  court,  and  to  demand  me  in  marriage  for 
his  son  Mirza.  Indignant  at  such  audacity  from  a 
vile  juggler,  my  father  commanded  the  wretch  to  be 
thrown  from  the  top  of  the  palace.  Kaschnur  es- 
caped, but  he  swore  to  be  revenged. 

"  A  little  while  afterward  the  wretch,  who  could 
change  his  appearance  according  to  his  wish,  glided 
in  unperceived  among  the  persons  who  waited  upon 
me,  and  one  summer's  evening,  as  I  was  walking  in 
my  garden  with  the  intention  of  taking  some  re- 
freshments, he,  concealed  under  the  garb  of  a  slave 
presented  to  me  some  kind  of  beverage,  I  know  not 
what,  which  quickly  caused  in  me  this  frightful 
change. 

"  I  had  fainted.  When  I  recovered  consciousness, 
I  was  in  this  condition,  and  I  heard  the  horrible 
voice  of  the  magician  crying  in  my  ears  : 

"  '  You  shall  remain  thus  to  the  end  of  your  life, 
disfigured,  hideous,  a  terror  even  to  animals  them- 
selves, at  least  until  some  one  is  found,  who  of  his 
own  free  will,  and  in  spite  of  your  repelling  appear- 
ance, shall  consent  to  marry  you.  Thus  I  am  re- 
venged upon  you  and  your  haughty  father/ 

"  Since  that  time  many  months  have  passed  ;  and 
the  sad  victim  of  an  infamous  magician,  I  have 
wandered  in  these  solitary  ruins,  an  object  of  aver- 
sion and  disgust  to  everything  that  lives.  Oh  !  if  I 
could  but  enjoy  the  sight  of  beautiful  nature  !  but, 


116  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

alas  !  I  am  blind  during  the  day,  and  it  is  only 
when  the  silver  moon  sheds  upon  the  earth  her  faint 
light  that  my  eyes  are  freed  from  the  thick  vail  that 
covers  them." 

The  owl  finished  speaking,  and  again  wiped  her 
eyes  with  the  end  of  her  wings,  for  the  relation  of 
her  misfortunes  caused  her  tears  again  to  flow. 

While  the  princess  was  speaking,  the  calif  had 
fallen  into  a  deep  reverie. 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a 
common  link  between  us  unfortunate  beings,  but 
how  shall  we  find  the  key  to  this  enigma  ?" 

"  My  lord,"  replied  the  owl,  "  I  think  the  same  I 
have  already  told  you,  that  long  ago,  a  kind  of  ma- 
gician predicted  that  a  stork  should  bring  great 
happiness  to  me  at  some  future  time.  Well !  I  be- 
lieve I  have  an  idea  which  might  assist  us  in  escap- 
ing from  this  frightful  labyrinth." 

"  Explain  yourself,"  cried  the  calif,  anxiously. 

"  The  magician  who  has "  caused  our  misfortunes 
comes  once  a  month  to  these  ruins.  Not  far  from 
here  is  a  spacious  parlor,  where  he  and  his  friend  as- 
semble for  their  nightly  revels.  I  have  very  often 
watched  them  there.  It  may  happen,  said  I  to  my- 
self suddenly,  that  during  some  of  these  times, 
Kaschnur  may  let  fall  from  him  the  word  you  have 
forgotten." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  princess  !"  exclaimed  the  calif, 
"  tell  me  quickly,  when  does  he  come  ?  Where  is 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  117 

the  parlor  ?"  The  owl  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  replied. 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  my  lord,  but  before  I  can  as- 
sist you  in  obtaining  your  deliverance,  I  must  add  a 
condition." 

"  Speak,  speak  quickly,"  cried  the  impatient  calif; 
"  command  me,  I  am  all  ready." 

"  I  can,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  be  delivered  im- 
mediately, but  this  can  not  be  done,"  added  she, 
modestly  lowering  her  large  yellow  eyes,  "  unless 
one  of  you  shall  offer  me  your  hand." 

This  proposal  rather  disconcerted  the  two  storks, 
and  the  calif  touching  the  vizier  with  his  wing, 
drew  him  aside  and  spoke  to  him. 

"  Grand  vizier,  this  is  a  foolish  business,  but  I  de- 
pend upon  your  assistance  in  order  to  get  ourselves 
out  of  it." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Manzour,  u  my  beloved  wife 
would  be  vexed  enough  when  I  should  return  home  ; 
and  besides,  I  am  an  old  man  ;  but  you,  my  lord, 
you  are  young  and  unmarried,  you  are  just  the  one 
for  a  handsome  young  princess/' 

"Ah,  that's  the  difficulty,"  said  the  calif,  leaning 
upon  his  wing.  "  How  do  you  know  that  she  is 
young  and  handsome  ?  We  shall  buy  a  pig  in  a 
poke,  as  they  say." 

They  conversed  together  some  time  ;  finally, 
when  the  calif  perceived  that  his  grand  vizier  would 
remain  forever  a  stork  than  to  marry  the  owl, 


118  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

he  resolved  himself  to  fulfill  the  condition  she  im- 
posed. 

Transported  with  joy  at  this  assurance,  the  owl 
confessed  to  them  that  they  could  not  have  arrived  at 
a  more  seasonable  time,  for  in  truth  the  magician 
and  his  friends  would  come  that  very  night  to  their 
accustomed  place  of  meeting  ;  so,  leaving  their  re- 
treat, she  guided  the  birds  toward  the  spot  where 
their  fate  would  be  decided. 

After  having  followed  her  a  few  moments  through 
a  gloomy  corridor,  a  brilliant  light  suddenly  shone 
through  a  broken  wall.  The  owl  then  recommend- 
ed the  two  birds  to  keep  a  strict  silence,  and  they  all 
continued  carefully  to  advance  as  far  as  the  opening 
through  which  the  light  gleamed,  and  which  was 
large  enough  to  allow  them  to  observe  at  a  distance 
all  that  was  transpiring  on  the  other  side. 

In  the  center  of  a  vast  parlor,  somewhat  less 
dilapidated  than  the  rest  of  the  castle,  and  which 
was  brilliantly  illuminated,  stood  a  large  round  table 
loaded  with  meats  and  wines  of  all  sorts.  Eight 
men  splendidly  dressed,  sat  around  this  table,  re- 
clining upon  rich  sofas  ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  two 
storks  beat  loudly,  when  they  recognized  among 
them  the  pretended  merchant  who  had  sold  them 
the  magic  powder. 

The  feast  continued  a  long  time.  The  night  was 
almost  spent,  and  our  two  unfortunate  friends  heard 
nothing  which  related  to  them.  They  began  to 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  119 

despair.  Half  of  the  guests  were  sleeping,  and  the 
other  half,  wearied  with  eating  and  drinking,  were 
preparing  to  do  the  same,  when  the  neighbor  of  the 
pretended  merchant  touched  him  on  his  elbow, 
saying,— 

"  Well,  Kaschnur,  tell  us  of  your  last  exploits, 
what  have  you  been  doing  for  us  ?" 

The  latter,  without  more  entreaties,  immediately 
related  a  long  list  of  infamous  deeds,  among  which 
was  the  history  of  the  calif  and  his  vizier. 

"  And  what  was  the  word  that  you  gave  them  ?" 
interrupted  the  magician. 

"  A  paltry  Latin  word,"  replied  the  latter,  laugh- 
ing at  his  own  exploits  ;  "  and  moreover  one  which 
is  not  easily  remembered  :  MUTABOR." 

CHAPTER  v. 

mRANSPORTED  with  joy  at  having  regained 
JL  this  unfortunate  word,  the  storks  hastened  to- 
ward the  entrance  of  the  ruins  with  such  rapidity, 
that  the  owl  could  scarcely  follow  them.  The  calif, 
however,  turning  to  her  as  she  joined  them,  said  to 
her  in  a  tender  voice,  "  Thou  who  hast  been  indeed 
our  deliverer,  generous  owl,  receive  my  hand  as  a 
token  of  my  lasting  gratitude  for  the  service  you 
have  done  for  us." 

The  calif  and  the  vizier  both  together  turned 
toward  the  east.  Three  times  their  long  necks 


120  MERRY'S  BOOK   OF 

bowed  toward  the  sun,  whose  rays  were  just  illumi- 
nating the  tops  of  the  mountains.  At  length  the 
magic  word  MUTABOR  burst  from  their  beaks,  and 
they  were  changed  into  men  I 

Incapable  of  speaking,  so  great  was  their  joy,  the 
master  and  his  servant  gazed  at  each  other  with 
astonishment.  They  fell  into  each  other's  arms 
weeping  and  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

But  who  can  describe  their  surprise  when,  looking 
around,  they  perceived  a  beautiful  young  maiden, 
richly  dressed,  standing  by  their  side.  She  advanced, 
smiling,  and  holding  out  her  hand  to  the  calif. 
"  You  do  not  recognize  any  longer  your  poor  owl  1" 
said  she.  She  was  so  charming,  that  the  calif, 
struck  with  her  grace  and  beauty,  could  not  refrain 
from  declaring,  as  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  that  he 
regarded  his  having  been  a  stork  as  the  greatest 
happiness  of  his  life,  since  it  was  owing  to  that 
transformation  that  he  had  met  with  her. 

The  return  of  the  calif  to  Bagdad,  with  his  faith- 
ful Manzour,  was  welcomed  by  the  people  with 
unanimous  joy.  But  all  the  testimonies  of  affec- 
tion which  surrounded  them,  only  increased  the 
hatred  of  Chasid  and  the  vizier  against  the  perfidious 
Mirza.  They  advanced  hastily  to  the  palace,  and 
took  the  old  magician  and  his  son  prisoners.  By 
the  order  of  the  calif,  the  old  man  was  conducted  to 
the  same  place  where  he  had  imprisoned  the  owl, 
and  was  there  hung  from  the  top  of  the  highest 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  121 

tower.  As  for  the  son,  who  was  ignorant  of  all  the 
evil  deeds  of  his  father,  the  calif  gave  him  his  choice 
to  die  or  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Do  you  use  it  ?"  said  the  vizier  to  him  with  a 
most  laughable  air,  as  he  presented  the  snuff-box  to 
him,  while  on  the  other  side  a  slave  held  a  drawn 
sabre,  ready  to  strike  at  the  least  signal. 

Mirza  hastily  plunged  his  fingers  into  the  magic 
box.  A  large  pinch,  accompanied  with  an  emphatic 
MUTABOE,  caused  him  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  to 
be  changed  into  a  fine,  large  stork,  and  the  poor  bird 
being  shut  up  in  a  huge  cage,  was  carried  to  the 
califs  gardens,  where  he  served  a  long  time  for  the 
amusement  of  the  loungers  of  Bagdad. 

Chasid  and  the  princess,  his  wife,  lived  many  long 
and  happy  years  together  ;  but  the  happiest  mo- 
ments of  the  calif  were  those  when  his  grand  vizier 
came  every  day  to  see  him  at  noon. 

Often  on  his  arrival,  he  would  relate  their  strange 
adventure,  and  when  the  calif  was  in  a  jovial  humor, 
he  would  amuse  himself  by  imitating  the  grand 
vizier,  and  mimicking  his  gait  as  a  stork.  With 
bent  neck  and  stiff  legs,  he  would  march  slowly 
around  the  room,  clapping  and  fluttering  his  wings  ; 
then  he  would  imitate  the  wo-begone  appearance  of 
the  poor  vizier,  when  he  was  vainly  bowing  toward 
the  east,  endeavoring  to  cry  Mu — Mu — Mu. 

This  trick  was  every  time  a  new  amusement  for 
the  calif's  wife  and  children.  But  if  Chasid  clapped 


122 


MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 


and  fluttered  his  wings  and  bowed  and  cried  Mu — 
Mu — Mu —  too  long  a  time,  the  grand  vizier,  piqued 
at  last  at  the  foolish  figure  which  his  master  pre- 
sented of  him,  threatened  to  reveal  to  the  princess, 
his  wife,  the  contention  which  they  had  formerly 
between  them  who  should  marry  the  poor  owl. 

The  calif  then  ceased,  but  could  not  be  prevented 
from  commencing  again  on  the  morrow  in  spite  of 
the  good  vizier's  threats,  which  however  were  never 
followed  by  any  disastrous  results. 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


123 


THE  NEW  SKATES. 


THE    PLEASURES    OF    WINTER. 

f  f  T  DO  hope  the  canal  will  freeze  over  to-night,  so 

JL  that  I  can  try  my  new  skates  in  the  morning,' 
said  Freddy  Holland,  one  cold  evening  to  his  school- 
mates. 

"It's  cold  enough  to  freeze  anything,  I  should 
think  ;  but  have  you  new  skates  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  father  bought  me  a  beautiful  pair  this 
morning  ;  come  home  with  me,  and  I'll  show  them 
to  you/' 

"  Agreed  !  boys,  let's  all  go  home  by  Mr.  Hol- 
land's, and  see  Fred's  new  skates  !" 

"  Well,  I  will  for  one," — and  I  for  two,"  said 
another  ;  and  so  on,  laughing  and  shouting,  the 
troop  of  boys  drew  up  in  front  of  Mr.  Holland's  hand- 
some residence. 


124  MERRY'S    BOOK   OF 

"  Now  for  a  sight  of  the  new  skates  !" 

"  Just  let  me  put  my  books  in  the  house,  and 
then  I'll  bring  them  out  to  you,"  said  Fred.  "  I 
know  you  will  all  say  they  are  well  worth  looking  at." 

"  Oh  !  but  they  are  grand  ones ;"  was  the  univer- 
sal exclamation  when  Fred,  reappeared  with  hia 
skates.  "  Why,  I  never  saw  any  like  them  I" 

"  No,  they  are  a  new  kind  ;  Mr.  Smith  unpacked 
them  last  night  ;  father  bought  the  very  best  pair 
from  the  lot,  and  he  picked  out  the  highest-priced 
pair,  too  ;  how  glad  I  felt  when  I  saw  them  \" 

"  Well,  if  they  ain't  just  the  nicest  skates  that 
ever  were  seen  ;  they  must  have  cost  a  great  deal, 
though  1" 

"  Father  never  buys  a  poor  article  ;  and  there  is 
not  another  such  a  pair  of  skates  nearer  than  New 
York  city,"  said  Fred.,  boastingly. 

"  Oh,  if  Mr.  Smith  received  a  lot  of  them,  I  guess 
there  are  others  as  good  as  yours,"  said  Jemmy 
Fritz,  laughing. 

"  I  tell  you  there  ain't  ;  the  others  are  very  nice, 
but  these  cost  a  half  a  dollar  more  than  any  of 
them." 

"  You  always  think  your  things  a  little  better 
than  other  people's  ;  how  much  are  the  others  ?" 

"  Different  prices — two  dollars,  a  dollar  and  a 
half,  and  some  a  dollar  and  a  quarter." 

"  I've  got  a  dollar  and  a  quarter,  of  my  own 
money — I  mean  to  have  a  pair  of  them  !" 


TALKS    AND    STORIES.  125 

"  I  mean  to  coax  father  to  get  me  a  pair." 

"  Father  has  promised  me  a  new  pair  this  winter  ; 
I  hope  he  will  get  them  to-night." 

"  1  mean  to  have  a  pair  before  this  time  to-mor- 
row." 

Just  then  two  men  passed  by,  and  one  said  to  the 
other,  "  It  is  stinging  cold,  to-night ;  I  think  the 
canal  will  be  closed  before  morning." 

"  Good  news  !"  cried  Fred.,  clapping  his  hands. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  boys,  let  all  of  us  who 
can  raise  skates,  meet  on  the  ice  right  after  break- 
fast, and  skate  till  school-time." 

"  Well,  that  will  be  fine." 

"You  will  come,  won't  you,  Edwin  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  replied  Edwin  sadly,  "  but  I 
haven't  any  skates." 

"  Can't  your  father  get  you  a  pair  ?"  asked  one 
of  the  boys. 

"  He  hasn't  any  father,"  said  another,  compas- 
sionately. "  Hasn't  he  ?  I  didn't  know  that." 

All  the  boys  felt  so  sorry  for  Edwin,  that  they 
did  not  care  to  talk  about  their  skating  any  longer. 
They  wanted  to  say  something  to  comfort  him,  but, 
boy-like,  they  did  not  know  how  ;  so  they  separated 
for  their  different  homes,  each  one  thinking  how 
hard  it  was  for  a  little  boy  to  have  no  father,  to  buy 
him  skates  and  other  nice  things. 

"  Oh,  those  beautiful  skates  !"  thought  Edwin,  as 
he  walked  slowly  home,  "  I  do  wish  I  had  a  pair  ;  I 


126  MERRY'S   BOOK  OF 

wonder  if  mother  couldn't  get  them  ?"  But  when 
he  went  to  the  house,  and  saw  his  mother  toiling 
over  her  sewing  to  get  them  needful  food,  he  felt 
that  it  would  be  useless  to  ask  her.  "  I  wonder  if 
there  is  no  other  way  in  which  I  can  get  them," 
thought  he  ;  and  long  after  he  had  gone  to  hed  that 
night,  he  lay  tossing  and  wondering  to  himselt 
whether  he  could  not  earn  the  money  to  buy  them. 
The  next  morning  he  called  at  Mr.  Smith's  store  to 
look  at  the  skates,  and  saw  a  pair  for  a  dollar  and  a 
half,  which  he  thought  just  as  good  as  those  over 
which  Freddy  bad  boasted  so.  "  Nice  article  that," 
Baid  Mr.  Smith  ;  "  is  just  about  the  right  size  for  you." 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  Edwin  began,  and  then  he  cleared 
his  throat  two  or  three  times  before  he  could  get  on  ; 
"  Mr.  Smith,  is  there  any  way  in  which  I  can  earn 
money  enough  to  pay  for  these  ?" 

"  Why,  yes  ;  the  boy  that  I  had  here  to  run  of 
errands,  and  carry  home  parcels,  is  sick  ;  if  you 
choose  to  come  and  take  his  place,  you  can  earn  them 
in  a  few  days." 

"  I  should  like  to,  but  mother  wishes  me  to  go  to 
school." 

"  And  you  wish  the  skates  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  come  to  me  a  couple  of  hours 
in  the  morning,  and  again  in  the  evening  when 
school  is  done,  you  shall  have  the  skates  in  two 
weeks.  Do  you  think  your  mother  can  let  you  ?" 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  .     127 

"  I  guess  so,  sir  ;  I'll  go  home  and  ask  her." 

His  mother  readily  gave  her  permission,  when 
she  saw  how  anxious  her  little  boy  was  to  get  the 
skates.  So  Edwin  began  to  get  up  very  early  in  the 
morning,  that  he  might  finish  all  his  mother  wanted 
done  by  breakfast- time,  and  be  ready  to  go  and  work 
for  Mr.  Smith  immediately  after. 

A  hopeful  spirit  makes  a  light  foot,  and  Edwin 
was  so  quick  in  doing  errands  that  Mr.  Smith  was 
greatly  pleased  with  him,  and  in  about  three  days 
said,  "  Edwin,  to-morrow  is  Saturday  ;  if  you  will 
come  and  help  me  all  day,  you  shall  have  the  skates 
to  take  home  with  you.  My  other  boy  will  be  back 
next  week.  Edwin's  eyes  glistened  as  he  ran  home 
to  tell  his  mother  the  good  news.  He  heard  the 
shouts  of  the  boys  on  the  canal  (for  it  was  now  a 
fine  skating- place,)  and  said  to  himself,  "  To-mor- 
row night  at  this  time  I'll  be  with  them,  and  as 
happy  as  a  king  with  my  new  skates,  all  my  own 
earning  !"  He  found  his  mother  busy  preparing 
something  for  his  grandmother's  rheumatism,  and 
as  the^old  lady  groaned  out  with  the  pain  in  her 
shoulder,  she  said,  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall  always  have 
it,  until  I  can  get  a  warm  shawl  to  wear  in  cold 
weather." 

"  Do  put  on  your  black  one,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  hope  to  get  to  church  again,  when 
spring  comes,  and  must  keep  that  shawl  decent  to 
wear  there.  Besides,  it  is  not  thick  enough  to  keep 


128  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

off  rheumatism  ;  a  little  blanket  shawl  would  be  the 
thing." 

"  I  know  it,  and  I  must  try  and  get  you  one  very 
soon." 

"  Hasn't  grandmother  any  warm  shawl  ?"  asked 
Edwin. 

"  No." 

"  How  much  would  it  cost,  mother  ?" 

"  About  a  dollar  and  a  half." 

"  Just  the  price  of  my  skates,"  thought  the  boy, 
"  how  nice  it  would  be  for  me  to  give  her  a  shawl  ! 
How  I  should  enjoy  to  see  her  wear  it,  and  in  think- 
ing I  had  helped  to  keep  away  her  rheumatism  ! 
But  then,  I  should  have  to  go  without  the  skates  ; 
all  the  other  boys  have  them,  and  it  would  be  so 
pleasant  to  go  with  them  to  the  canal  to-morrow 
night.  Shall  I  give  up  all  my  pleasure  or  not  ? 
I'll  think  about  it."  He  did  think — not  only  that 
night,  but  all  the  next  day  while  doing  errands. 
When  he  had  carried  home "  the  last  parcel  for  his 
employer,  he  went  back  to  get  his  pay  ;  and  when 
that  gentleman  laid  down  the  skates,  saying, 
"  There  they  are,  my  boy,  all  your  own — may  you 
have  many  a  merry  time  with  them,"  his  heart 
swelled  with  joy  for  a  moment,  to  think  that  he 
owned  the  long  coveted  skates.  But  then  he  re- 
membered his  grandmother,  and  though  the  tears 
sprung  to  his  eyes,  he  said  in  a  tolerably  steady 
voice,  "  Would  you  as  lief,  sir,  that  I  should  take 
one  of  those  blanket  shawls  instead  of  the  skates?" 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  129 

"  A  blanket  shawl !  what  in  the  world  would  you 
do  with  it  ?" 

"  Give  it  to  my  grandmother,  sir." 

"  What  sudden  change  is  this  ?  I  thought  you 
were  half  crazy  for  a  pair  of  skates  ?" 

"  So  I  was,  but  I  heard  grandmother  say  last 
night  she  could  never  get  well  of  the  rheumatism, 
until  she  had  a  warm  shawl." 

"And  you  are  going  to  treat  her  to  one,  ha  ?" 

"I  should  like  to." 

"  Very  well,  select  the  nicest  shawl  in  the  store. 
There,  what  do  you  think  of  that  drab  one  ?" 

"Just  the  thing  for  grandmother,  but  have  I 
earned  as  much  as  that  ?" 

'  "  Yes,  and  more  too — a  boy  so  thoughtful  of  his 
grandmother's  comfort,"  he  replied,  as  he  carefully 
wrapped  up  the  shawl. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Edwin  leaving  the  store 
with  the  parcel  in  his  hand.  He  did  not  dare  to 
give  another  look  at  the  skates  ;  for  somehow  they 
had  never  seemed  so  attractive  as  then.  When  he 
passed  near  the  canal,  he  whistled  loud,  that  he 
should  not  hear  the  shouts  of  the  merry  skaters  ; 
but  in  spite  of  himself,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as 
he  remembered  he  had  no  skates.  But  when  he  en- 
tered the  house,  and  slipping  up  to  his  grandmother, 
spread  a  shawl  round  her  shoulders,  he  had  to  laugh 
at  her  look  of  surprise.  "  Oh,  what  a  nice,  warm 
shawl!"  she  kept  saying  over  and  over  again; 


130  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

"  what  a  fine  thing  to  keep  off  rheumatism  !  If  I 
had  such  a  shawl  as  that,  I  should  be  made  up  for 
life  !" 

"  Be  '  made  up'  then,  grandmother,"  he  said  mer- 
rily, "  the  shawl  is  yours  and  nobody's  else." 

u  Mine  ?"  asked  the  old  lady  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  yours  ;  I  earned  it  by  going  on  errands  for 
Mr.  Smith,  and  I  want  you  to  wear  it  for  my  sake, 
grandmother." 

"  Dear  heart,  may  the  Lord  bless  you,  and  raise 
up  as  kind  children  to  cherish  you  in  your  old  age  1" 
and  she  laid  her  trembling  hand  upon  his  head,  while 
her  lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer  for  him. 

Never  had  grandmother  looked  so  well  as  on  that 
evening,  wrapped  in  Edwin's  shawl.  She  seemed  so 
comfortable  and  happy,  that  he  was  more  than  paid 
for  his  sacrifice.  "  And  you  gave  up  your  skates, 
Edwin,  for  this  !"  said  his  mother,  following  him  to 
his  little  bed-room.  "  Grandmother  needed  the 
shawl  so  much  more,  mother." 

"  My  darling  son  !"  was  all  she  could  say  ;  but 
she  resolved  in  heart  that  her  child  should  have  a 
pair  of  skates,  too,  if  she  had  to  sew  all  night  to 
get  them.  She  did  not  know  that  God  had  put  it 
into  the  hearts  of  some  other  friends  to  give  them  to 
him,  and  that  her  extra  toil  would  not  be  required. 

On  Sunday,  Edwin  felt  very  happy,  seeing  his 
grandmother  in  her  warm  shawl,  and  he  thought  to 
himself,  "  If  I  had  the  skates  I  could  not  enjoy 


TALES     AND      STORIES.  131 

them  to-day  ;  but  grandmother  can  use  her  shawl 
all  the  time.  I  am  glad  I  got  it." 

"  That  is  a  fine  little  lad  of  Widow  Merrick's," 
said  Mr.  Smith  to  some  gentlemen  who  were  in  his 
store  Saturday  night  ;  "  a  manly  little  fellow,"  he 
repeated,  and  then  he  told  them  the  story  of  the 
skates  and  shawl. 

"  The  good  boy  !  he  shall  have  a  pair  of  skates, 
for  he  deserves  them  if  ever  a  lad  did  j"  and  money 
was  quickly  produced  to  pay  for  the  very  best  skates 
in  the  store. 

On  Monday  morning,  when  Edwin  was  in  the 
yard  sawing  wood,  a  boy  came  up,  and  handed  him 
a  parcel  on  which  was  written,  "For  Master  Edwin 
Merrick,  from  some  friends  who  heard  with  pleasure 
of  his  generous  conduct  to  his  grandmother,  and  who 
feel  that,  though  men,  they  might  learn  a  lesson  ot 
self-denial  from  a  boy." 

Edwin  tore  open  the  papers  hastily,  and  shouted 
for  joy  when  he  saw  the  skates  ! 


L32 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


LITTLE   ALICE. 

A   STORY   FOR   CHRISTMAS. 


SOME  few  winters  ago,  I  was  invited  by  a  friend 
to  be  present  at  a  party  on  Christmas  Eve,  given 
to  a  number  of  children  in  the  familv.     Of  course  I 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  133 

accepted,  for  nothing  gives  me  more  pleasure  than 
to  see  young  and  happy  beings  meet  together.  The 
evening  was  clear  and  cold,  the  ground  was  covered 
with  a  crisp  snow,  and  the  heavens  were  studded 
with  bright  stars.  It  was  a  beautiful  night,  worthy 
to  herald  the  coming  morrow.  It  was  on  such  a 
night,  doubtless,  that  the  shepherds  were  keeping 
watch  over  their  flocks,  when  the  angel  of  the  Lord 
appeared  to  them  and  told  them  "  of  the  good 
tidings  of  great  joy  which  shall  be  to  all  people." 

The  house  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  the  sound 
of  merry  voices  greeted  me  when  I  entered  the  room 
where  the  children  were  busy  at  various  games. 

"Oh,  do  you  know,  aunt  Anna/1  said  one,  "that 
we  are  to  have  a  Christmas  tree  to-night  ?  and  that 

O 

we  are  all  going  to  get  something  from  it  ?  Won't 
it  be  beautiful  ?" 

"  Beautiful,  indeed,  I  have  no  doubt,"  I  replied. 

At  length  a  little  bell  rang,  and  the  folding-doors 
were  thrown  open,  and  there,  before  the  wondering 
eyes  of  the  children,  stood  a  beautiful  Christmas 
tree.  The  apartment  contained  no  light  but  that 
shed  by  numerous  colored  wax  tapers,  which  were 
fastened  among  the  branches  of  the  evergreen  tree, 
that  was  completely  loaded  with  all  sorts  of  pretty 
nick-nacks.  High  over  all,  stood  a  figure  of  Santa 
Claus,  holding  in  his  hand  a  flag,  upon  which  ap- 
peared, in  letters  of  gold,  the  inscription,  "  I  wish 
you  all  a  merry  Christmas,  little  children."  It  is 


134  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

impossible  to  describe  the  delight  of  all  as  they 
gazed  for  a  moment  in  silent  astonishment  upon  the 
beautiful  sight,  but  soon  their  joy  burst  forth  in 
words,  and  many  were  the  exclamations  and  loud 
clapping  of  tiny  hands  that  followed. 

I  had  taken  my  seat  somewhat  behind  the  tree, 
that  I  might  gaze  upon  the  faces  before  me.  One 
of  these  particularly  attracted  rny  attention.  It  was 
that  of  a  little  girl  about  eight  years  old,  and  I  did 
not  remember  to  have  ever  seen  her  before.  She 
was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and  her  light  hair  fell 
in  luxuriant  curls  over  her  neck.  She  was  very  pale, 
and  her  blue  eyes  were  raised  earnestly,  nay,  almost 
sadly,  towards  the  richly  loaded  Christmas  tree. 
But  soon  her  face  brightened  up,  and  she  raised  her 
little  hands,  and  made  a  motion  with  them  as  if 
some  pretty  loy  had  caught  her  eye,  and  she  would 
like  to  possess  it. 

At  length  the  gifts  were  all  distributed,  and  the 
children  scattered  here  and  there,  were  talking  to- 
gether, and  showing  what  beautiful  things  they  had 
received.  At  the  other  side  of  the  room,  quietly 
seated  upon  a  low  stool,  is  the  little  girl  in  black. 
Her  presents  are  lying  carelessly  at  her  side,  and  she 
leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand,  and  gazes  at  the 
happy  beings  before  her.  I  crossed  the  room  to 
address  her,  but  just  then  little  Mary,  a  little  girl 
three  years  old,  came  along,  and  stopped  before  her 
in  child-like  wonder,  and  said, — 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  135 

"  Don't  you  like  your  pretty  things  ?" 

I  listened  to  hear  what  the  other  would  reply,  but 
she  merely  made  a  slight,  quick  motion  with  her 
hand,  while  the  child  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 
"  Well,"  continued  Mary,  quite  reprovingly,  "  why 
don't  you  speak  ?  You  are  very  naughty  if  you 
don't  like  them,"  and  the  little  one  was  turning 
hastily  away,  when  a  tear  fell  upon  her  fat  hand, 
that  had  rested  upon  the  arm  of  the  other,  and 
immediately  her  tender  feelings  were  moved,  and  she 
added,  as  .she  kissed  the  weeping  child, — 

"  Well,  don't  cry  ;  please  don't  cry."  Turning 
to  me,  she  said, — 

'*'  Please  try  and  make  the  little  girl  speak." 

I  asked  this  young  stranger  a  number  of  questions, 
to  none  of  which,  however,  she  made  any  reply.  My 
suspicions  were  now  aroused,  and  I  thought,  can  it 
be  that  those  pale  lips  cannot  frame  a  sound  ? 
While  I  sat  by  her  side,  her  hand  clasped  in  mine, 
and  her  face  hidden  in  my  lap,  a  lady  came  smiling 
towards  me,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  the  child's 
head,  said, — 

"  So  you  have  taken  my  little  girl  under  your 
charge  ?" 

The  child  started,  glanced  hastily  up,  and  again 
those  delicate  fingers  moved  quickly  in  the  air.  The 
lady  who  had  addressed  me,  I  knew  to  be  the  matron 
of  the  neighboring  deaf  and  dumb  asylum.  My 
suspicions  were  correct.  It  was  not  that  this  little 
one  would  not  but  that  she  could  not  speak. 


136  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

Some  years  have  passed,  and  I  often  visit  the 
asylum  where  Alice  Manning  is  being  educated. 
By  practice,  I  have,  myself,  become  quite  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  language  of  signs,  and  it  is  one  of 
my  greatest  pleasures  to  sit  by  the  side  of  that 
sweet  and  affectionate  mute,  and  converse  with  her, 
through  the  medium  of  our  fingers.  By  education, 
her  whole  character  is  rapidly  improving.  She  is 
becoming  more  and  more  interesting,  and  is  none 
the  less  so  because  she  cannot  speak,  for  her  soul 
finds  eloquent  utterance  in  the  eye  and  in  the 
impressive  language  of  signs. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  137 


A  VISIT  FROM  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

'TWAS  the  night  before  Christmas,  when,  all  through  the  house, 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse ; 

The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care, 

In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there ; 

The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds, 

While  visions  of  sugar- plums  danced  through  their  heads; 

And  mamma  in  her  'kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 

Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap — 

When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a  clatter, 

I  sprang  from  the  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter , 

Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 

Tore  open  the  shutters  and  threw  up  the  sash. 

The  moon,  on  the  breast  of  the  new  fallen  snow, 

Gave  the  lustre  of  mid-day  to  objects  below, 

When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear, 

But  a  miniature  sleigh  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 

With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 

I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 

More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 

And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by  name : 

"  Now,  Dasher!  now,  Dancer!  now,  Prancer!  now,  Vixen  I 

On,  Comet !  on,  Cupid !  on,  Donder  and  Blixen ! 

To  the  top  of  the  porch !  to  the  top  of  the  wall ! 

Now,  dash  away,  dash  away,  dash  away  all !" 

As  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly, 

When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to  the  sky, 

So,  up  to  the  house-top  the  coursers  they  flew, 

With  the  sleigh  full  of  toys — and  St.  Nicholas  too. 

And  then  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the  roof 

The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 

As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning  around, 

Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  bound. 

He  was  dressed  all  in  fur,  from  his  head  to  his  foot, 


138  MERRY'S  BOOK  OP 

And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnish'd  with  ashes  and  soot ; 

A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 

And  he  looked  like  a  peddlar  just  opening  his  pack; 

His  eyes — how  they  twinkled  !  his  dimples  how  merry ! 

His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a  cherry ; 

His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a  bow, 

And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  white  as  the  snow. 

The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his  teeth, 

And  the  smoke  it  encircled  his  head  like  a  wreath. 

He  had  a  broad  face,  and  a  little  round  belly, 

That  shook,  when  he  laugh'd,  like  a  bowl  full  of  jelly 

He  was  chubby  and  plump ;  a  right  jolly  old  elf; 

And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him  in  spite  of  myself. 

A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 

Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 

He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work, 

And  611ed  all  the  stockings  ;  then  turned  with  a  jerk, 

And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose. 

And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose. 

He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 

And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle ; 

But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove  out  of  sight, 

"  Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  Good  Night." 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


139 


THE    LEGEND    OF    KING    KOBEKT  OF 
SICILY. 


EITEKS  inform  us,  that  King 
Kobert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope 
Urban  and  of  the  Emperor  Vale- 
'rnond,  was  a  prince  of  great  valor  and 
renown,  but  of  a  temper  so  proud  and 
impatient,  that  he  did  not  like  to  bend 
his  knee  to  Heaven  itself,  but  would  sit  twirling  his 
beard,  and  looking  with  something  worse  than  in- 
difference round  about  him,  during  the  services  of 
the  church. 

Well,  one  day,  while  he  was  present  at  vespers  on 
the  eve  of  St.  John,  his  attention  was  excited  to 
some  words  in  the  Magnificat,  in  consequence  of  a 
sudden  dropping  of  the  choristers'  voices.  The 
words  were  these  :  "  Deposuit  potentes  de  sede,  et 
exaultavit  humiles."  (He  hath  put  down  the 
mighty  from  their  seat,  and  hath  exalted  the  hum- 
ble,) Being  far  too  great  and  warlike  a  prince  to 
know  anything  of  Latin,  he  asked  a  chaplain  near 


140  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

him  the  meaning  of  these  words  ;  and  being  told 
what  it  was,  observed  that  such  expressions  were  no 
better  than  an  old  song,  since  men  like  himself  were 
not  so  easily  pulled  down,  much  less  supplanted  by 
poor  creatures  whom  people  called  "  humble." 

The  chaplain,  doubtless  out  of  pure  astonishment 
and  horror,  made  no  reply  ;  and  his  majesty,  partly 
from  the  heat  of  the  weather,  and  partly  to  relieve 
himself  from  the  rest  of  the  service,  fell  asleep. 

After  some  lapse  of  time,  the  royal  "  sitter  in  the 
seat  of  the  scornful,"  owing,  as  he  thought,  to  the 
sound  of  the  organ,  but  in  reality  to  a  great  droning 
fly  in  his  ear,  woke  up  in  more  than  his  usual  state 
of  impatience  ;  and  he  was  preparing  to  vent  it, 
when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  perceived  the  church 
empty.  Every  soul  was  gone,  excepting  a  deaf  old 
woman  who  was  turning  up  the  cushions.  He  ad- 
dressed her  to  no  purpose  :  he  spoke  louder  and 
louder,  and  was  proceeding,  as  well  as  rage  and 
amaze  would  let  him,  to  try  if  he  could  walk  out  of 
the  church  without  a  dozen  lords  before  him,  when 
suddenly  catching  a  sight  of  his  face,  the  old  woman 
uttered  a  cry  of  "  Thieves  !"and  shuffled  away,  first 
closing  the  door  behind  her. 

King  Robert  looked  at  the  door  in  silence,  then 
round  about  him  at  the  empty  church,  then  at  him- 
self. His  cloak  of  ermine  was  gone.  The  coronet 
was  taken  from  his  cap.  The  very  jewels  from  his 
fingers.  "  Thieves  verily  !"  thought  the  king,  turn- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  141 

ing  white,  for  shame  and  rage.  "  Here  is  conspiracy 
— rebellion  !  This  is  that  sanctified  traitor,  the 
Duke.  Horses  shall  tear  them  all  to  pieces.  What 
ho,  there  !  Open  the  door  for  the  king  !" 

u  For  the  constable,  you  mean  I"  said  a  voice 
through  the  keyhole.  "  You're  a  pretty  fellow  !" 

The  king  said  nothing. 

"  Thinking  to  escape,  in  the  king's  name,"  said 
the  voice,  "  after  hiding  to  plunder  his  closet. 
We've  got  you." 

Still  the  king  said  nothing. 

The  sexton  could  not  refrain  from  another  jibe  at 
his  prisoner : 

"/  see  you,  there,"  said  he — "  by  the  big  lamp, 
grinning  like  a  rat  in  a  trap.  How  do  you  like  your 
bacon  ?" 

Now,  whether  King  Kobert  was  of  the  blood  of 
that  Norman  chief  who  felled  his  enemy's  horse  with 
a  blow  of  his  fist,  we  know  not  ;  but  certain  it  is, 
that  the  only  answer  he  made  the  sexton  was  by 
dashing  his  enormous  foot  against  the  door,  and 
bursting  it  open  in  his  teeth.  The  sexton,  who  felt 
as  if  a  giant  had  given  him  a  blow  in  the  face,  faint- 
ed away  ;  and  the  king,  as  far  as  a  sense  of  dig- 
nity allowed  him,  hurried  to  his  palace,  which  was 
close  by. 

"  Well,"  said  the  porter,  "  what  do  you  want  ?" 

"  Stand  aside,  fellow  !"  roared  the  king,  pushing 
back  the  door,  with  the  same  gigantic  foot. 


142  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

"  Be  gone  with  you  ;"  said  the  porter,  who  was  a 
stout  fellow  too,  and  pushed  the  king  back  before  he 
expected  resistance.  The  king,  however,  was  too 
much  for  him.  He  felled  him  to  the  ground  ;  and 
half  strode,  half  rushed  into  the  palace,  followed  by 
the  exasperated  janitor. 

"  Seize  him,"  cried  the  porter. ' 

"  On  your  lives/'  cried  the  king.  "  Look  at  me, 
fellow  : — who  am  I  ?" 

"  A  mad  beast  and  fool ;  that's  what  you  are/ 
cried  the  porter  ;  "  and  you're  a  dead  man,  for  com- 
ing drunk  into  the  palace,  and  hitting  the  king's 
servants.  Hold  him  fast." 

In  came  the  guards,  with  an  officer  at  their  head, 
who  was  going  to  visit  his  mistress,  and  had  been 
dressing  his  curls  at  a  looking-glass.  He  had  the 
looking-glass  in  his  hand. 

"  Captain  Francavilla,"  said  the  king,  "  is  the 
world  run  mad  ?  or  what  is  it  ?  Do  your  rebels 
pretend  not  even  to  know  me  ?  Go  before  me,  sir, 
to  my  rooms."  And  as  he  spoke,  the  king  shook 
off  his  assailants,  as  a  lion  does  curs,  and  moved  on- 
wards. 

Captain  Francavilla  put  his  finger  gently  before 
the  king  to  stop  him  ;  and  then  looking  with  a  sort 
of  staring  indifference  in  his  face,  said,  in  a  very 
mild  tone,  "  Some  madman." 

King  Kobert  tore  the  looking-glass  from  the  cap- 
tain's hand,  and  looked  himself  in  the  face.  It  was 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  143 

not  Ms  own  face.  It  was  another  man's  face,  very 
hot  and  vulgar  ;  and  had  something  in  it  at  once 
melancholy  and  ridiculous. 

"  By  the  living  !"  exclaimed  Robert,  "  here  is 
witchcraft !  I  am  changed."  And,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  a  sensation  of  fear  came  upon  him, 
Lut  nothing  so  great  as  the  rage  and  fury  that  re- 
mained. All  the  world  believed  in  witchcraft,  as 
well  as  King  Robert  ;  but  they  had  still  more  cer- 
tain proofs  of  the  existence  of  drunkenness  and  mad- 
ness ;  and  the  king's  household  had  seen  the  king 
come  forth  from  church  as  usual,  and  were  ready  to 
split  their  sides  for  laughter  at  the  figure  of  this 
raving  impostor,  pretending  to  be  King  Robert 
changed  ! 

"  Bring  him  in — bring  him  in,"  now  exclaimed 
other  voices,  the  news  having  got  to  the  royal  apart- 
ments ;  "  the  king  wants  to  see  him." 

King  Robert  was  brought  in  ;  and  there,  amidst 
roars  of  laughter,  (for  courts  were  not  quite  such 
well-bred  places  then  as  they  are  now,)  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  another  King  Robert,  seat- 
ed on  his  throne,  and  as  like  his  former  self  as  he 
himself  unlike,  but  with  more  dignity. 

"  Hideous  impostor  !"  exclaimed  Robert,  rushing 
forward  to  tear  him  down. 

The  court,  at  the  word  "  hideous,"  roared  with 
greater  laughter  than  before  ;  for  the  king,  in  spite 
of  his  pride,  was  at  all  times  a  handsome  man  ;  and 


144  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

there  was  a  strong  feeling  at  present  that  he  had 
never  in  his  life  looked  so  well. 

Robert,  when  half  way  to  the  throne,  felt  as  if  a 
palsy  had  struck  him.  He  stopped,  and  essayed  to 
vent  his  rage,  but  could  not  speak. 

The  figure  on  the  throne  looked  him  steadily  in 
the  face.  Robert  thought  it  was  a. wizard,  but  hated 
far  more  than  he  feared  him,  for  he  was  of  great 
courage. 

It  was  an  angel. 

But  the  angel  was  not  going  to  disclose  himself 
yet,  nor  for  a  long  time.  Meanwhile,  he  behaved, 
on  the  occasion,  very  much  like  a  man  ;  we  mean, 
like  a  man  of  ordinary  feelings  and  resentments, 
though  still  mixed  with  a  dignity  beyond  what  hud 
been  before  observed  in  the  Sicilian  monarch. 
Some  of  the  courtiers  attributed  it  to  a  sort  of  royal 
instinct  of  contrast,  excited  by  the  claims  of  the  im- 
postor ;  but  others  (by  the  angel's  contrivance)  had 
seen  him,  as  he  came  out  of  the  church,  halt  sudden- 
ly, with  an  abashed  and  altered  visage,  before  the 
shrine  of  St.  Thomas,  as  if  supernaturally  struck 
with  some  visitation  from  Heaven  for  his  pride  and 
unbelief.  The  rumor  flew  about  on  the  instant,  and 
was  confirmed,  by  an  order  given  from  the  throne, 
the  moment  the  angel  seated  himself  upon  it,  for  a 
gift  of  a  hitherto  unheard-of  amount  to  the  shrine 
itself. 

"  Since  thou  art  royal  mad,"  said  the  new  sover- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  145 

eign,  "  and  in  truth  the  very  king  of  idiots,  thou 
shalt  be  crowned  and  sceptred  with  a  cap  and  bau- 
ble, and  be  my  fool." 

Kobert  was  still  tongue-tied.  He  tried  in  vain  to 
speak — to  roar  out  his  disgust  and  defiance  ;  and 
half  mad  indeed,  with  the  inability,  pointed  with 
his  quivering  finger,  to  the  inside  of  his  mouth,  as 
if  in  apology  to  the  beholders  for  not  doing  it. 
Fresh  shouts  of  laughter  made  his  brain  seem  to 
reel  within  him. 

"  Fetch  the  cap  and  bauble,"  said  the  sovereign, 
"  and  lej  the  king  of  fools  have  his  coronation." 

Kobert  felt  that  he  must  submit  to  what  he 
thought  the  power  of  the  evil  one  ;  and  began  to 
have  glimpses  of  a  real  though  hesitating  sense  of 
the  advantage  of  securing  friendship  on  the  side  of 
Heaven.  But  rage  and  indignation  were  upper- 
most ;  and  while  the  attendants  were  shaving  his 
head,  fixing  the  cap,  and  jeeringly  dignifying  him 
with  the  bauble-sceptre,  he  was  racking  his  brains 
for  schemes  of  vengeance.  What  exasperated  him 
most  of  all,  next  to  the  shaving,  was  to  observe,  that 
those  who  had  flattered  him  most  when  a  king, 
were  the  loudest  in  their  contempt,  now,  that  he 
was  the  court-zany.  One  pompous  lord  in  particu- 
lar, with  a  high  and  ridiculous  voice,  which  continued 
to  laugh  when  all  the  rest  had  done,,  and  produced 
fresh  peals  by  the  continuance,  was  so  excessively 
provoking,  that  Kobert,  who  felt  his  vocal  and  mus- 


146  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

cular  powers  restored  to  him  as  if  for  the  occasion, 
could  not  help  shaking  his  fist  at  the  grinning  slave, 
and  crying  out,  "  Thou  beast,  Terranova  ; "  which, 
in  all  but  the  person  so  addressed,  only  produced 
additional  merriment.  At  length  the  king  ordered 
the  fool  to  be  taken  away,  to  sup  with  the  dogs. 
Kobert  was  stupefied  ;  but  he  found  himself  hungry 
against  his  will,  and  gnawed  the  bones  which  had 
been  chucked  away  by  his  nobles. 

The  proud  King  Eobert  of  Sicily  lived  in  this 
way  for  two  years,  always  raging  in  his  mind,  always 
sullen  in  his  manners,  and  subjected  to  every  indig- 
nity that  his  quondam  favorites  could  heap  on  him, 
without  the  power  to  resent  it,  for  the  new  monarch 
seemed  unjust  to  him  only.  He  had  all  the  humilia- 
tions, without  any  of  the  privileges,  of  the  cap  and 
bells,  and  was  the  dullest  fool  ever  heard  of.  All 
the  notice  the  king  took  of  him,  consisted  in  asking 
now  and  then,  in  full  court,  when  everything  was 
silent,  "  Well,  fool,  art  thou  still  a  king  ?"  Kobert 
for  some  weeks,  loudly  answered  that  he  was  ;  but, 
finding  that  the  answer  was  but  a  signal  for  a  roar 
of  laughter,  converted  his  speech  into  the  silent  dig- 
nity of  a  haughty  and  royal  attitude  ;  till,  observ- 
ing the  laughter  to  be  greater  at  this  dumb  show, 
he  ingeniously  adopted  a  manner  which  expressed 
neither  defiance  nor  acquiescence,  and  the  angel  for 
some  time  let  him  alone. 

Meantime,  everybody,  but  the  unhappy  Robert, 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  147 

blessed  the  new,  or,  as  they  supposed  him,  the  al- 
tered king  :  for  everything  in  the  mode  of  govern- 
ment was  changed.  Taxes  were  light ;  the  poor  had 
plenty  ;  work  was  reasonable  ;  the  nobles  themselves 
were  expected  to  work  after  their  fashion — to  study, 
to  watch  zealously  over  the  interests  of  their  tenants, 
to  travel,  and  bring  home  new  books  and  innocent 
luxuries.  Half  the  day  throughout  Sicily  was  given 
to  industry,  and  half  to  healthy  intellectual  enjoy- 
ment ;  and  the  inhabitants  became  at  once  the  man- 
liest and  tenderest,  the  gayest  and  most  studious 
people  in  the  world.  Wherever  the  king  went,  he 
was  loaded  with  benedictions  ;  and  the  fool  heard 
them,  and  began  to  wonder  what  evil  spirit  had  con- 
jured up  appearances  so  extraordinary.  And  thus, 
during  the  space  of  time  we  have  mentioned,  he 
lived  wondering,  and  sullen,  and  hating,  and  hated. 
At  the  expiration  of  these  two  years,  or  nearly 
so,  the  king  announced  his  intention  of  paying  a 
visit  to  his  brother  the  pope,  and  his  brother  the  em- 
peror, the  latter  agreeing  to  come  to  Eome  for  the 
purpose.  He  went  accordingly  with  a  great  train 
clad  in  the  most  magnificent  garments,  all  but  the 
fool,  who  was  arrayed  in  fox-tails,  and  put  side  by 
side  with  an  ape,  dressed  like  himself.  The  people 
poured  out  of  their  houses,  and  fields,  and  vine- 
yards, all  struggling  to  get  a  sight  of  the  king's 
face,  and  to  bless  it,  the  ladies  strewing  flowers,  and 
the  peasants'  wives  holding  up  their  rosy  children, 


148  MERRY'S    BOOK   OF 

which  last  sight  seemed  particularly  to  delight  the 
sovereign.  The  fool,  bewildered,  came  after  the 
court-pages,  by  the  side  of  his  ape,  exciting  shouts 
of  laughter,  and,  in  some  bosoms,  not  a  little  as- 
tonishment, to  think  how  a  monarch  so  kind  and 
considerate  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  should  be 
so  hard  upon  a  sorry  fool.  But  it  was  told  them, 
that  this  fool  was  the  most  perverse  and  insolent  of 
men  towards  the  prince  himself ;  and  then,  although 
their  wonder  hardly  ceased,  it  was  full  of  indigna- 
tion against  the  unhappy  wretch,  and  he  was  loaded 
with  every  kind  of  scorn  and  abuse.  The  proud 
King  Robert  seemed  the  only  blot  and  disgrace  upon 
the  island. 

The  fool  had  still  a  hope,  that  when  his  holiness 
the  pope  saw  him,  the  magician's  arts  would  be  at 
an  end  ;  for  though  he  had  had  no  religion  at  all, 
properly  speaking,  he  had  retained  something  even 
of  a  superstitious  faith  in  the  worldly  forms  of  it. 
The  pope,  however,  beheld  him  without  the  least 
recognition  ;  so  did  the  emperor  ;  and  when  he  be- 
held them  both  gazing  with  unfeigned  admiration  at 
the  exalted  beauty  of  his  former  altered  self,  and 
not  with  the  old  faces  of  pretended  good- will  and  se- 
cret dislike,  a  sense  of  awe  and  humility,  for  the  first 
time,  fell  gently  upon  him.  Instead  of  getting  as 
far  as  possible  from  his  companion  the  ape,  he  ap- 
proached him  closer  and  closer,  partly  that  he  might 
shroud  himself  under  the  very  shadow  of  his  insig- 


tfALES     AND     STORIES.  149 

nificance,  partly  from  a  feel  ing  of  absolute  sympathy 
and  a  desire  to  possess,  if  not  one  friend  in  the 
world,  at  least  one  associate  who  was  not  an  enemy. 

It  happened  that  day  that  it  was  the  eve  of  St. 
John,  the  same  on  which,  two  years  ago,  Robert 
had  heard  and  scorned  the  words  in  the  Magnificat. 
Vespers  were  performed  before  the  pope,  and  the  two 
sovereigns  :  the  music  and  the  soft  voices  fell  softer 
as  they  came  to  the  words,  and  Kobert  again  heard 
but  with  far  different  feelings,  Deposuit  potentes  de 
sede,  et  exaltavit  humiles  :  "  He  hath  put  down  the 
mighty  from  their  seat,  and  exalted  the  humble." 
Tears  gushed  into  his  eyes,  and,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  court,  the  late  sullen  and  brutal  fool  was 
seen  with  his  hands  reverently  clasped  upon  his  bo- 
som in  prayer,  and  the  tears  pouring  down  his  face 
in  floods  of  penitence.  Something  of  holier  feeling 
than  usual  had  turned  all  hearts  that  day.  The 
king's  awn  favorite  chaplain  had  preached  from  the 
text  which  declares  charity  to  be  greater  than  faith, 
or  hope.  The  emperor  began  to  think  that  mankind 
were  really  his  brethren.  The  pope  wished  that  some 
new  council  of  the  church  would  authorize  him  to 
set  up  over  the  Ten  Commandments,  and,  in  more 
glorious  letters,  the  new,  eleventh,  or  great  Christian 
commandment — "  Behold,  I  give  unto  you  a  new 
commandment :  LOVE  ONE  ANOTHER/'  In  short, 
Rome  felt  that  day  like  angel-governed  Sicily. 

When  the  service  was  over,  and  the  sovereigns 


150  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF' 

had  gone  to  their  apartments,  King  Robert's  beha- 
vior was  reported  to  the  unsuspected  King- Angel, 
who  had  seen  it,  but  said  nothing.  The  sacred  in- 
terloper announced  his  intention  of  giving  the  fool  a 
trial  in  some  better  office,  and  he  sent  for  him  ac- 
cordingly, having  first  dismissed  every  other  person. 
King  Kobert  came,  in  his  fool's-cap  and  bells,  and 
stood  humbly  at  a  distance  before  the  great  unknown 
looking  on  the  floor  and  blushing.  He  had  the  ape 
by  the  hand,  who  had  long  courted  his  good-will, 
and  who,  having  now  obtained  it,  clung  to  his  human 
friend  in  a  way  that,  to  a  Roman,  might  have  seem- 
ed ridiculous,  but  to  the  angel  was  affecting. 

"  Art  thou  still  a  king  ?"  said  the  King- Angel, 
putting  the  old  question,  but  without  the  word  "fool." 

"I  am  a  fool,"  said  King  Kobert,  "and  no  king." 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  Robert  ?"  returned  the  an- 
gel, in  a  mild  voice. 

King  Robert  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  said, 
"  Even  what  thou  wouldst,  0  mighty  and  good 
stranger,  whom  I  know  not  how  to  name — hardly  to 
look  upon  !" 

The  stranger  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
King  Robert,  who  felt  an  inexpressible  calm  sudden- 
ly diffuse  itself  over  his  whole  being.  He  knelt 
down  and  clasped  his  hands  to  thank  him. 

"  Not  to  me,"  interrupted  the  angel,  in  a  grave 
but  sweet  voice  ;  and  kneeling  down  by  the  side  of 
Robert,  he  said,  as  if  in  church,  "  Let  us  pray." 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


151 


King  Kobert  prayed,  and  the  angel  prayed,  and 
after  a  few  moments,  the  king  looked  up,  and  the 
angel  was  gone  ;  and  then  the  king  knew  that  it 
was  an  angel  indeed. 

And  his  own  likeness  returned  to  King  Robert, 
hut  never  an  atom  of  his  pride  ;  and  after  a  blessed 
reign,  he  died,  disclosing  this  history  to  his  weeping 
nobles,  and  requesting  that  it  might  be  recorded  in 
the  Sicilian  Annals. 


152 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


THE    SAILOR    YOUTH. 


I 


CHAPTER    I. — SORROW. 

T  is  a  beautiful. morning  in  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber. The^astern  sky  is  filled  with  light,  rosy 
clouds,  and  tW  glorious  sun,  bursting  forth,  heralds 
the  approach  of  a  bright,  clear  day.  The  little  vil- 
lage of  S ,  where  the  scene  of  our  story  is  laid,  is 

situated  on  the  extreme  eastern  coast  of  Massachu- 
setts. The  inhabitants  of  the  place,  a  thriving,  indus- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  153 

trious  set  of  people,  have  been  stirring  for  more  than 
three  hours,  attending  to  their  various  household  du- 
ties. The  place  is  very  prettily  laid  out,  in  straight, 
regular  streets,  bordered  on  each  side  with  fine  forest 
trees,  thus  forming  in  the  summer  season  delightful 
shady  walks.  At  the  far  end  of  the  village,  on  a 
slight  eminence,  stands  the  church,  embedded  in  a 
perfect  grove  of  foliage,  which  has  now  assumed  its 
bright  autumnal  tints. 

Adjoining  is  a  cottage,  occupied  by  the  pastor  and 
his  family.  In  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of  this  dwell- 
ing a  young  girl  of  about  nineteen  years  of  age  is 
busily  occupied  arranging  the  breakfast-table.  Her 
form  is  slender,  but  well-proportioned,  and  her  fair 
skin  is  delicately  tinged  with  the  rosy  hue  of  health  ; 
her  eyes  are  of  a  dark  blue,  and  her  hair,  which  is 
laid  smoothly  over  her  brow,  is  of  a  rich  brown 
color ;  yet  her  chief  charm  is  not  in  her  looks,  but 
in  her  manner.  Although  she  had  been  petted  and 
admired  by  many,  still  she  is  not  spoiled  ;  no  vain 
or  selfish  feelings  find  harborage  in  her  gentle  heart. 
She  is,  indeed,  first  with  all  ;  but  with  ,her,  all  are 
before  herself.  Such  is  Mary  Eldridge,  the  pastor's 
only  daughter.  ^ 

"  There,  mother,"  she  exclaimed;  as  a  lady  o 
about  forty   years   of  age  entered   the   apartment, 
"  everything  is  prepared  for  breakfast."     Then  she 
added,  as  she  turned  toward  the  door  of  her  father's 
study,  "  Is  papa  ready  for  prayers,  do  you  think  ?" 


154  MERRY'S    BOOK    or 

"  He  has  not  returned  home  yet,  my  dear/'  replied 
her  mother. 

"Returned  home  !  where  has  he  gone  ?"  she  in- 
quired in  astonishment. 

"  Why,  did  not  Margaret  tell  you  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Eldridge,  "  that  they  sent  for  him  very  early  this 
morning  from  Mrs.  Martin's,  with  word  that  her  little 
girl  was  dying  ?" 

"  What,  dear  little  Agnes  !"  exclaimed  Mary,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  When  was  she  taken  sick  ? 
I  have  heard  nothing  about  it.  It  was  only  yester- 
day morning,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  passed  their 
house,  and  there,  in  the  garden,  was  the  little  one, 
with  her  blind  brother.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight," 
she  added,  "  to  see  that  sweet  child,  only  five  years 
old,  leading  by  the  hand  her  brother,  two  years  older 
than  herself,  she  his  guide  and  support." 

u  She  will,  indeed,  be  a  great  loss  to  him,"  replied 
the  pastor's  wife  ;  "  but  we  should  remember,  Mary, 
that  what  is  Willie's  loss  will  be  Agnes'  gain.  But 
there  is  your  father,"  she  continued,  "  coming  along 
the  road.  Eun,  my  child,  and  open  the  gate  for 
him." 

In  an  instant  Mary  was  at  the  front  door,  and  in 
a  few  moments  her  loved  father's  arm  was  around 
her,  while,  with  his  usual  "  God  bless  you  !"  he 
pressed  an  affectionate  morning  greeting  upon  her 
lips.  Then  her  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  155 

"  Mary,  my  child,  you  must  not  weep  so,"  he 
said,  as  he  led  her  sobbing  into  the  house.  "  It  is 
true  little  Agnes  has  gone,  and  we  will  all  miss  her  ; 
but  she  was  too  pure  for  this  earth,  she  was  but  lent 
to  us  for  a  short  season,  and  now  the  Lord  has  taken 
her  again  to  himself." 

"  What  physician  did  they  employ,  Edward  ?" 
inquired  his  wife. 

"The  child  was  taken  suddenly  ill  last  evening," 
replied  Mr.  Eldridge,  "and  Mr.  Martin  sent  off  im- 
mediately for  Dr.  Howard,"  he  added,  turning  to- 
ward his  daughter,  the  color  of  whose  cheeks  assum- 
ed a  deeper  hue.  "  I  found  the  Doctor  there  when 
1  arrived  ;  he  had  remained  by  the  bedside  of  the 
sick  child  the  whole  night,  watching  every  symptom, 
and  using  every  means  in  his  power  to  preserve  life, 
but  in  vain.  When  I  entered  the  apartment  in 
which  they  were  assembled,  there,  on  the  bed,  lay 
the  dying  child,  the  poor  mother  clasping  her  little 
one's  hand  between  her  own,  while,  kneeling  at  Mrs. 
Martin's  feet,  his  face  buried  in  her  lap,  and  sobbing 
as  if  his  heart  would  break,  was  poor  blind  Willie. 
The  father  stood  silently  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  by 
the  side  of  the  physician.  When  the  Doctor  was 
preparing  to  depart,  Mrs.  Martin  rose,  and,  taking 
both  his  hands,  said  :  '  We  can  not  express  to  you 
how  deeply  thankful  we  feel  for  your  kind  attention 
to' — here  her  voice  trembled,  and  she  glanced  toward 
the  bed.  *  You  have  done  all  that  you  could  do, 


156  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

and  much  inore  than  we  had  a  right  to  expect.' 
The  tears  shone  in  Dr.  Howard's  eyes  ;  he  could 
scarcely  utter  a  word,  but  after  warmly  pressing  the 
hands  of  both  parents,  and  whispering  a  few  words 
of  comfort  to  blind  Willie,  he  turned  for  an  instant 
toward  the  dying  one.  As  he  leaned  over  her,  she 
opened  her  eyes  slightly,  and  murmured  (  kiss.'  He 
bent  silently  down,  and  when  he  raised  his  head  a 
tear-drop  glistened  on  little  Agnes'  pale  forehead." 

As  Mr.  Eldridge  in  a  low  tone  related  the  fore- 
going sad  scene,  the  tears  streamed  from  the  eyes  of 
his  wife  and  child,  while  he  himself,  with  much 
difficulty,  could  scarcely  suppress  his  feelings.  Af- 
ter a  moment's  silence,  he  added  :  ait  is  very  late, 
we  must  have  prayers  now.  But  where  is  your 
brother,  Mary  ?  The  lazy  boy,  has  he  not  come 
down  yet  ?" 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eldridge,  "I  never 
thought  of  Henry.  Kun  up  stairs,  my  child,  and 
see  what  keeps  him  ;  perhaps  he  may  not  be  well." 

As  Mary  turned  to  obey  her  mother,  a  loud 
scratching  was  heard  at  the  front  door.  "  Oh,  there 
is  Ocean,"  she  said.  "I  will  just  let  him  in  first, 
for  I  expect  the  poor  fellow  thinks  it  very  strange 
that  he  has  not  had  his  breakfast  yet." 

She  was  indeed  right  ;  for,  when  she  opened  the 
door,  there  stood  a  large  Newfoundland  dog,  who, 
without  stopping  to  receive  his  accustomed  caress, 
pushed  roughly  past  her,  and,  springing  into  tho 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  157 

sitting-room,  uttered  a  low,  mournful  howl,  as  he 
laid  a  handkerchief  at  his  master's  feet.  Mr.  Eldridge 
raised  it,  while  his  wife  exclaimed  immediately, 
"  It  is  our  son's  !" 

They  now  perceived  that  the  dog  was  dripping 
wet.  Their  fears  were  at  once  roused  ;  perhaps  in 
bathing,  near  the  shore,  their  son  had  been  carried 
out  by  a  strong  wave,  and  the  dog  had  endeavored 
to  save  him,  but,  failing  therein,  had  brought  home 
his  handkerchief  as  a  token  of  his  fate.  Just  as 
they  had  silently  arrived  at  this  terrible  conclusion, 
Mary  rushed  into  the  apartment  with  an  open  letter 
in  her  hand,  which  she  handed  to  her  father,  and, 
throwing  herself  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  she  ex- 
claimed, sobbing  violently,  "  Oh  !  Henry  has  gone  ! 
he  has  gone  to  sea." 

As  her  daughter  uttered  these  words,  Mrs.  El- 
dridge sank  back  into  her  chair,  while  her  husband 
hastily  glanced  at  the  contents  of  the  letter.  At 
last  he  read  in  a  trembling  voice  the  following  lines  : 

MY  DEAR  PARENTS — I  leave  you  thus  suddenly, 
because  I  fear  that  mother  would  so  oppose  my  going 
to  sea,  that  I  fear  I  should  be  obliged  to  give  up 
the  idea,  and  it  has,  you  know,  been  always  my 
most  anxious  desire  to  be  a  sailor.  Please,  dear 
mother,  forgive  your  son  this  want  of  dutiful  obe- 
dience toward  your  wishes,  and  believe  that  it  is  not 
without  feelings  of  sorrow  that  I  leave  my  home  and 
all  who  are  dear  to  me.  Tell  sister  Mary  not  to 


158  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

forget  me,  and  that  in  a  few  years  I  will  return,  and 
have  much  to  tell  her  about  the  world  and  its  won- 
ders. I  have  taken  the  Bible  that  you  gave  me, 
mother,  when  I  was  but  ten  years  old,  just  eight 
years  ago.  I  will  read  it,  night  and  morning,  for 
your  sake,  and  lr  hope  it  may  do  me  some  good. 
You  will  find,  also,  that  I  have  taken  my  small 
trunk,  filled  with  my  clothes  ;  it  is  all  I  shall  want. 
I  go  with  one  who  has  the  name  of  being  a  very  kind 
captain,  but  I  will  write  and  let  you  know  all,  the 
first  port  we  make.  Give  my  good-bye  to  all  friends, 
but  particularly  to  Walter  Howard  ;  and  Mary  can 
tell  him,  if  she  chooses,  that  I  hope  to  find  him 
nearer  than  a  friend  when  I  return  home.  Now, 
dear  father  and  mother,  farewell,  and  to  be  remem- 
bered night  and  morning  in  your  prayers  is  the  last 
wish  of  your  ever-loving  son.  HENRY  ELDRIDGE. 

When  Mr.  Eldridge  had  finished  the  letter,  he 
turned  and  said  :  "  We  can  but  trust  that  we  will 
meet  again."  Then  quietly  rising  from  his  chair,  he 
took  his  wife  and  daughter  by  the  hand,  and  led 
them  into  his  study,  and  there  the  three  kneeled 
down,  while  he  offered  up  a  prayer,  in  which  the 
present  and  the  absent,  those  in  grief  and  those  in 
joy,  were  all  remembered  by  their  affectionate  pastor. 

CHAPTER   II. — THE    VISIT. 

New  Year's  day  has  arrived,  and-  many  are  the 
preparations  for  feasting  that  are  taking  place  in  the 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  159 

little  village  of  S .     Neither  has   their   pastor 

been  forgotten,  for,  on  his  return  from  church,  he 
found  his  table  filled  to  overflowing  with  kind  gifts 
from  his  flock.  But  an  air  of  sadness  reigned 
throughout  the  dwelling;  the  inmates  feel  that  the 
day  is  not  such  a  one  as  they  had  expected  it  would 
be.  Poor  Mary  !  she  had  been  making  great  calcu- 
lations for  this  day.  She  had  expected  to  have  had 
her  dear  brother  with  her,  and  he  had  intended  to 
invite  to  dinner  his  friend  Walter  Howard.  But 
now  all  was  changed,  for  that  brother  was  gone,  and 
they  knew  not  whither. 

"  Mother,"  said  Mary,  after  they  had  finished 
their  silent  meal,  "  1  believe  I  will  go  this  after- 
noon and  see  Mrs.  Martin  ;  she  may  think  it  strange 
that  I  have  not  called  before." 

"  She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,  I  do 
not  doubt,"  replied  her  mother,  "  but  she  thinks 
nothing  of  it  ;  for  I  told  her  this  morning  at  church 
that  you  had  been  sick  for  the  last  few  weeks,  and 
she  said  something  about  coming  to  see  you  herself." 

"  Dear,  good  woman  !"  exclaimed  Mary.  "  And 
I  will  carry  some  fresh  eggs,"  she  added,  "  to  blind 
Willie,  he  loves  them  so  much.  Sweet  boy,  he  can 
not  say  now,  as  he  used  to  do,  whenever  I  gave  him 
anything,  "  Agnes  shall  have  some  too." 

Immediately  rising  she  filled  a  basket  with  some 
nice  new-laid  eggs,  and,  putting  on  her  simple  straw 
hat,  and  throwing  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  after 


160  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

kissing  both  her  parents  affectionately,  she  left  the 
house  and  turned  her  steps  toward  Mrs.  Martin's 
dwelling.  This  was  some  distance  from  Mr.  El- 
dridge's,  and  part  of  the  way  lay  through  quite  a 
wood,  where,  in  summer,  it  was  Mary's  great  delight 
to  roam,  gathering  wild  flowers,  with  which  to  adorn 
her  father's  study.  As  she  drew  near  the  cottage, 
she  perceived,  seated  in  his  accustomed  seat  on  the 
front  steps,  the  little  blind  boy.  When  she  opened 
the  gate  he  started,  listened  to  the  sound,  and  the 
instant  her  foot  touched  the  gravel  walk  he  recog- 
nized her  step,  and  murmuring,  "  Miss  Mary,"  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Dear  Willie,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  stooped 
down  and  kissed  his  pale  cheek,  "you  must  not 
cry  so." 

"  Why  do  you  cry  ?"  said  the  child  as  he  raised 
his  sightless  eyes,  and  pointed  toward  his  hand  on 
which  she  had  let  fall  more  than  one  tear.  He  felt, 
though  could  not  see. 

"  I  cry  to  see  you  so  unhappy/1  she  answered. 
Then  placing  herself  by  his  side,  and  taking  one  of 
his  hands  in  hers,  she  continued  in  a  soothing  tone, 
"  Listen  to  me,  Willie.  You  had  a  dear  little  sister, 
but  the  good  God,  who  gave  her  to  you,  saw  fit  to 
take  her  away,  and  you  should  not  grieve  so,  since 
it  was  his  will." 

"But  she  will  never  lead  me  about  again,"  he  ex- 
claimed, still  weeping  bitterly. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  161 

"  Not  till  God  calls  you,  also,  to  himself,  dear ; 
then  you  will  meet  your  lost  sister,  and  there,  in  a 
more  beautiful  and  brighter  world  than  this,  she 
will  lead  you  to  Jesus'  feet." 

"  And  shall  I  see  all  that  beautiful  world  ?  and 
shall  I  see  Agnes  then,  Miss  Mary  ?"  inquired  the 
blind  boy,  earnestly. 

"  Yes,  Willie,"  she  replied,  "  you  will  see  them." 

"  Oh  !  1  should  be  so  happy  to  die  now  !"  an- 
swered the  child  ;  "  why  don't  God  call  me  ?  But 
he  never  has  yet,  has  he  ?  I  would  have  heard  him, 
wouldn't  I  ?"  he  added  anxiously,  "  though  I  did 
not  hear  him  when  he  called  sister  Agnes." 

"No,  Willie,  you  did  not  hear  him,  but  Agnes 
did.  But  you  must  not  wish  to  die  till  you  are 
called  for — that  is  not  right.  Come,  let  us  go  into 
the  house  now,"  she  continued,  "and  see  your 
mamma  ;  and  here  are  some  fresh  eggs  ;  carry  them 
to  Ellen  and  ask  her  to  take  them  out." 

The  child  took  the  basket,  but  his  heart  was  too 
full  to  utter  his  thanks  for  the  nice  present ;  his 
thoughts  were  with  that  loved  sister,  with  whom  he 
had  always  shared  all  such  gifts.  The  meeting  be- 
tween the  bereaved  mother  and  our  young  friend 
was  solemn  and  affecting.  After  sitting  an  hour  or 
two  with  Mrs.  Martin,  Mary  rose  to  leave,  saying,  as 
they  stood  together  upon  the  steps,  "  See,  the  sun 
has  set !  it  is  quite  late,  and  it  will  be  dark  before 
I  get  home." 


162  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

"But  you  have  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  in  our 
quiet  village/'  replied  Mrs.  Martin,  "  only  the  walk 
will  be  lonesome  for  you.  I  wish  my  husband  were 
here,  and  then  he  could  accompany  you." 

'  Oh,  that  would  not  be  worth  while,"  replied 
Mary,  adding,  as  she  kissed  her  for  good-bye,  "  per- 
haps I  may  overtake  some  of  the  neighbors  on  the 
road." 

Then,  with  her  empty  basket  hanging  on  her  arm, 
she  took  her  way  toward  home.  When  she  reached 
the  woods,  the  road  through  which  was  not  quite 
dark,  she  suddenly  heard  a  quick  step  behind  her, 
and  a  voice  exclaimed,  •'  Good-evening,  Miss  Mary  1" 
She  turned,  for  she  had  immediately  recognized  the 
tones,  and  in  an  instant  Doctor  Howard  was  stand- 
ing at  her  side.  Arm-in-arm  the  two  now  walked 
quietly  toward  Mr.  Eldridge's  cottage,  and  as  they 
parted  at  the  gate,  the  Doctor  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
her  rosy  lips,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to  resent  this 
liberty,  but  quietly  submitted.  They  seemed  to  un- 
derstand one  another  very  well. 

CHAPTER    III. — THE    SHIPWRECK. 

Six  years  have  passed  away.  It  is  New  Year's 
eve.  The  clouds  are  dark  and  heavy,  and  the 
rising  wind  betokens  that  there  will  be  a  severe 
storm  during  the  night. 

The  old  familiar  sitting-room  in  Mr.  Eldridge's 
cottage  is  brightly  lighted  up,  a  cheerful  fire  burns 


TALES     AND     STOKIES.  163 

in  the  grate,  and  happy  is  the  party  there  assembled, 
for  the  old  man's  family  has  quite  increased  since  we 
last  saw  him.  There  he  sits  at  one  side  of  the  table 
reading,  and  looking  as  hale  as  ever,  while  opposite 
to  him  is  his  wife,  occupied  with  her  knitting. 
Near  her  mother  stands  our  friend  Mary,  holding  a 
sleeping  infant  in  her  arms,  while  a  little  boy  of 
about  four  years  of  age  is  lying  on  the  floor,  engaged 
in  tormenting,  in  various  childlike  ways,  a  large 
Newfoundland  dog,  who  is  stretched  lazily  out  by 
his  side.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  there  is  seated, 
on.  a  low  stool,  a  lad  of  about  twelve  years  of  age, 
busily  employed  in  weaving  a  basket.  It  is  blind 
Willie.  He  is  now  an  orphan,  and  since  the  death 
of  his  parents  he  has  found  a  kind  home  at  the  par- 
sonage. 

"  Come,  my  child,"  said  Mary,  addressing  the 
little  urchin  at  her  feet  ;  "  it  is  time  for  you  to  go 
to  bed.  Agnes  is  sound  asleep,"  she  added,  glancing 
at  the  babe. 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  stay  up,  mamma,  till  papa 
comes  home,"  he  replied,  as  he  pulled  the  dog's 
long,  black  ears. 

"  No,  my  dear ;  you  must  come  now,  for  your 
papa  may  not  be  home  till  very  late  ;  and  I  expect 
Ocean  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  you,  for  you  have 
not  given  him  a  moment's  peace  for  the  last  hour/' 

The  child  laughed,  patted  the  animal  lovingly  on 
the  head,  saying,  "  Good-night,  Ocean  !"  Then, 


164  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

after  receiving  an  affectionate  embrace  from  his 
grandfather  and  grandmother,  and  kissing  Willie, 
he  followed  his  mother,  though  somewhat  unwilling- 
ly, from  the  room.  When  her  children  were  safe  in 
bed,  Mary  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  and  quietly 
seated  herself  at  her  work.  She  had  not  been  there 
many  minutes,  before  the  door  of  the  apartment  was 
thrown  open,  and  Doctor  Howard  entered. 

"  Why,  what  has  made  you  so  late,  Walter  ?" 
she  exclaimed,  rising,  and  attempting  to  take  off  his 
overcoat,  which  was  dripping  wet,  for  the  rain  by 
this  time  was  pouring  down  in  torrents. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  Mary,"  he  replied,  kissing 
her  cheek  ;  "  I  have  had  so  much  to  attend  to,  and 
now  I  must  go  out  again  immediately.'"' 

"  You  are  not  going  out  during  this  terrible 
storm  ?"  inquired  his  wife,  as  she  glanced  anxiously 
from  the  window  into  the  dark  street,  which  was,  at 
short  intervals,  made  light  as  day  by  the  vivid 
streaks  of  lightning  that  flashed  over  the  whole 
heavens,  followed  by  the  most  fearful  peals  of 
thunder. 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  husband  ;  "  it  is  necessary, 
for  I  have  just  mot  one  of  our  neighbors,  and  he  tells 
me  that  there  is  a  ship  off  the  coast  in  distress,  and 
that  the  people  are  assembling  to  try  and  assist  her, 
so  I  merely  stopped  to  tell  you  all  not  to  be  uneasy 
about  me.  I  will  return  as  soon  as  I  possibly  can. 
Come,  Ocean  1"  he  added,  whistling  to  the  dog  ; 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  165 

"  you  may  be  of  some  use."  At  this  call  the  animal 
rose,  shook  his  long,  shaggy  hair,  and  as  Willie 
patted  him  on  the  back,  saying,  "  See  now,  old 
fellow,  if  you  can't  save  some  poor  sailor's  life/'  he 
trotted  quickly  after  his  master. 

A  ship  in  distress  !  What  mingled  emotions 
stirred  the  hearts  of  this  little  family  !  They 
thought  of  that  son  who  so  many  years  before  had 
left  them  so  unexpectedly,  and  whom  they  had  never 
heard  from  since.  Perhaps  in  some  far  distant  port, 
the  vessel  in  which  he  sailed  was  also  in  distress, 
and  there  were  none  near  to  offer  assistance  ;  or 
perhaps  he  had  already  found  a  grave  in  that  watery 
deep  where  many  others  might  be  resting  with  him 
before  to-morrow's  sun  arose. 

We  will  now  follow  Doctor  Howard  and  his  canine 
companion.  When  they  reached  the  shore,  the 
former  instantly  perceived  by  the  flashes  of  light- 
ning that,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  coast,  was  a 
large  vessel  laboring  through  the  water,  and  in  im- 
minent danger  of  being  dashed  to  pieces  against  the 
rocks  which  were  hidden  beneath  the  white  waves. 
The  bank  was  crowded  with  people,  some  proposing 
one  thing,  and  some  another  ;  but  as  soon  as  Walter 
Howard  appeared,  they  all  turned  toward  him,  and 
inquired  what  means  he  would  advise  as  the  best  to 
be  used  toward  saving  these  poor,  helpless  beings. 
He  immediately  ordered  a  long  rope  to  be  secured  at 
one  end  to  the  stern  of  a  boat  which  was  lying  up  on 


166  MERRY'S    BOOK   OF 

the  sand  ;  the  other  end  of  it  he  placed  in  the  hands 
of  one  of  the  men,  and  then  pushing  the  skiff  into 
the  water  and  stepping  into  it,  he  turned  toward 
a  tall,  sturdy  fisherman  who  was  standing  near, 
and  hastily  inquired,  "  Will  you  accompany  me, 
George  ?" 

The  man  made  no  reply,  except  by  springing 
quickly  in  after  him.  Then  he  seemed  to  hesitate, 
and  Walter  Howard  thought  for  an  instant  that  he 
was  unwilling  perhaps  to  run  so  great  a  risk  ;  but 
he  merely  turned  toward  the  shore,  and  addressing 
the  assembled  people,  who  had  stood  silently  watch- 
ing their  movements,  in  a  loud  voice  said,  "  Is  there 
none  here  who  have  courage  to  accompany  me,  and 
let  the  Doctor  remain  on  land  ?  He  has  a  family, 
and  there  are  many  of  you  who,  like  myself,  are 
alone  in  the  world."  Hardly  had  he  uttered  these 
words,  than  they  crowded  toward  the  boat,  all 
willing  to  risk  their  lives  in  the  place  of  one  who 
was  so  universally  beloved.  But  their  generous  and 
ready  offers  were  not  to  be  accepted,  for  Walter 
Howard  with  one  of  the  oars  hastily  pushed  the  boat 
out  into  the  rough  waters,  exclaiming,  "No,  no,  I 
will  go  myself,  though  I  thank  you  all.  I  trust  all 
will  go  well.  Attend  to  the  rope,  hold  it  securely, 
and  if  we  call  to  you  to  draw  in,  do  so,"  he  added, 
as  they  pushed  farther  out  into  the  deep. 

Thrice  did  that  little  boat,  by  the  efforts  of  these 
noble  men,  journey  from  the  land  to  the  sinking  ves- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  167 

sel,  each  time  returning  laden  with  a  heavy  load  of 
thankful  beings.  When  they  reached  the  shore  for 
the  third  time,  the  fisherman  sprang  upon  the  beach, 
then  touching  Walter  Howard  respectfully  upon  the 
arm,  he  exclaimed,  as  he  pointed  out  toward  the 
dark  waters,  "  We  must  not  return  again." 

"  Oh,  George  \"  replied  the  other,  "  there  are  but 
a  few  more  men  on  board.  I  do  not  believe  the  ves- 
sel will  sink  before  we  can  get  them  off.  Come,  go 
with  me  once  more  !" 

"Doctor  Howard,"  replied  the  man,  "we  might 
possibly,  although  I  doubt  it,  have  time  to  reach  the 
ship  again,  but  we  would  never,"  he  added,  earnest- 
ly, "  when  there,  return." 

His  fears  were  but  too  true  ;  for  hardly  had  these 
words  passed  his  lips,  when  the  lightning  flashed 
brightly  over  the  wreck.  It  was  heaving  its  last 
throes  ;  screams  of  agony  reached  the  ears  of  the 
anxious  spectators  ;  then  a  heavy,  sudden  splash 
sounded  in  the  deep  waters,  and  all  was  silent  as 
death,  both  on  land  and  sea ;  even  the  tempest 
seemed  'for  an  instant  to  hush  its  fury. 

The  Doctor  now  placed  himself  upon  a  rock  over- 
hanging the  shore,  and  by  his  side  stood  the  faithful 
Ocean.  The  former  is  anxiously  watching  for  the 
appearance  of  any  bodies  that  may  be  thrown  to- 
ward the  land.  Suddenly  the  animal  at  his  feet 
stretches  his  black  head  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
water  ;  then,  giving  a  low,  long  whine,  springs  into 


168  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

the  waves  beneath,  and  strikes  boldly  out  toward  a 
dark  object,  which  is  dashed  helplessly  about  by  the 
raging  storm.  The  dog  has  reached  it,  and  grasp- 
ing it  securely  between  his  teeth,  he  turns,  and  in  a 
few  moments  drags  upon  the  sand  the  body  of  a 
sailor.  Now  the  animal  moans  sadly,  gazes  as  it 
he  would  almost  speak  into  the  many  faces  that 
crowd  around  ;  then  he  stoops  over  the  body  and 
licks  the  pale,  wet  face. 

"  How  strange  the  dog  acts  !"  exclaims  the  fish- 
erman whom  we  have  called  George.  "  Can  it  be 
any  one  he  knows  ?  Doctor,"  he  added,  as  he  held 
a  lantern  toward  the  ground,  "  see  if  you  can  recog- 
nize him." 

Walter  Howard  bent  forward,  and  as  the  light 
flickered  over  the  features  of  the  unconscious  man, 
he  started  back,  uttering  the  words  :  "  Good  hea- 
vens !  It  is  Henry  Eldridge  I" 

Great  indeed  was  the  anxiety  and  excitement, 
when  the  crowd  learned  that  it  was  the  son  of  their 
respected  pastor  ;  and  not  many  minutes  had  elapsed 
before  he  was  carried  in  their  arms  into  a  neighbor- 
ing cottage,  where  his  brother-in-law  used  every 
means  in  his  power  to  revive  him.  His  efforts  were 
not  fruitless,  for  before  half  an  hour  had  passed,  the 
young  man  showed  evident  signs  of  recovery.  Old 
Ocean  had  stood  quietly  during  all  this  time  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  ;  but  when  he  saw  his  master  Henry 
open  his  eyes,  the  dog  snatched  something  from  off 
a  chair,  and  started  unobserved  out  of  the  room. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  171 

circumstances  to  let  him  go  to  the  one  in  the  neigh- 
boring town. 

Attached  to  her  little  cottage  was  about  an  acre 
of  ground.  This  Joe  used  to  cultivate,  raising  pota- 
toes, cabbages,  tomatoes,  and  various  other  vegeta- 
bles, for  which  he  found  a  ready  sale,  besides  having 
enough  left  for  their  own  use  during  the  winter. 

It  grieved  Joe  very  much  to  thick  he  was  debar- 
red the  high  privilege  of  getting  an  education.  He 
was  very  ambitious  to  be  great  and  rich.  Of  a  vis- 
ionary turn  of  mind,  all  his  leisure  moments,  during 
the  long  days  of  summer,  were  spent  building  castles 
in  the  air,  each  to  crumble  to  decay  among  the  ruins 
of  the  past. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  the  water,  and  had  a 
great  desire  to  become  a  sailor,  and  travel  over  the 
boundless  ocean  ;  and,  if  he  had  had  no  one  but  him- 
self to  consult,  he  would  have,  ere  this,  found  the 
ship-board,  and  sailed  before  the  mast. 

But  the  dearest  of  all  earthly  ties  held  him  back. 
That  was  his  mother.  He  had  not  the  heart  to 
disregard  the  silent  tear  that  trembled  neath  her 
dark  lashes  when  he  would  wish  to  go,  so  he  tried 
to  be  content.  He  could  not,  however,  drive  his 
favorite  project  from  his  mind,  but  kept  it  alive,  by 
modeling  little  ships,  which  he  would  sail  upon  the 
silver  stream  that  skirted  his  garden. 

When  Joe  had  nearly  attained  his  fifteenth  birth- 
day, a  fine  opportunity  offered  for  him  to  go  on  a 


172 


MERRY'S  BOOK    OF 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  173 

long  cruise.  An  old  captain,  whose  family  lived  in 
the  same  village,  offered  to  take  Joe  under  his  espe- 
cial charge,  while  his  mother  should  make  her  home 
with  his  family  until  their  return.  After  much  hesi- 
tation she  consented,  and  Joe,  full  of  hope,  donned 
the  blue  shirt  and  tarpaulin  with  a  light  heart,  de- 
termining that,  now  he  was  started  upon  the  world, 
he  would  make  a  fortune. 

He  was  perfectly  bewildered  when  he  arrived  at 
the  great  bustling  city  of  New  York,  never  having 
been  so  far  away  from  home  before.  He  had  not 
much  time  to  look  around,  for  the  day  after  his  ar- 
rival the  ship  sailed.  He  was  at  first  terribly  sea- 
sick ;  but  a  few  weeks  made  an  old  sailor  of  him. 
He  was  charmed  with  the  ocean  and  a  sailor's  life. 
He  soon  learned  to  climb  the  shrouds,  with  the  best 
of  them.  They  had  been  out  about  six  months, 
when  they  encountered  a  violent  storm,  which  made 
Joe,  for  the  first  time,  regret  that  he  had  left  home. 
Then,  it  was  not  his  own  imminent  danger,  but  the 
thought  of  his  mother,  and  what  would  become  of 
her  if  he  should  die.  Alone  in  the  world,  without  a 
tie,  the  blow  might  be  fatal.  Such  thoughts  as 
these  vibrated  to  his  very  soul,  and  awakened  re- 
grets that  could  not  be  stilled  ;  while  the  storm 
raged,  threatening  every  moment  to.  dash  the  frail 
bark  to  atoms,  giving  all  her  crew  a  watery  grave 
among  the  coral  depths  of  ocean. 

God,  in  his  providence,  saw  fit  to  order  it  other- 


174 


MERRY' s    BOOK    OP 


wise.  The  winds  lulled,  the  dark  clouds  burst 
asunder,  showing  to  the  faithful  sailors  their  silver 
linings  ;  while  the  great  bow  of  promise  spanned  the 
heavens. 


A    STORM    AT    SEA. 

After  an  absence  of  three  years,  the  beardless  boy 
returned  to  the  home  of  his  childhood,  so  much  al- 
tered that  his  own  mother  scarce  recognized  him. 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


175 


How  had  time  passed  with  her  ?  Her  grief  was 
more  subdued,  and  her  step  had  regained  a  portion 
of  its  former  elasticity.  Each  was  pleased  with  the 
changes  time  had  wrought  in  the  other.  The  grate- 
ful mother  hoped  that  her  darling  son  would  be  tired 
of  his  wanderings,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
life  with  her.  But  in  this  she  was  disappointed. 
No  persuasions  could  keep  him  at  home.  He  was 
born  for  a  sailor,  and  a  sailor  he  would  be  for  life. 

The  next  voyage  he  held  a  higher  station,  and 
the  next,  and  so  on,  until  he  was  enabled  to  buy  a 


THE   OCEAN. 

small  craft,  and  be  her  captain.  From  that,  he 
went  on  until,  at  this  time,  he  is  one  of  the  greatest 
captains  living,  and  has  attained  the  title  of  Com- 


176  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

modore.  His  desire  to  become  rich  and  great, 
through  great  perseverance,  has  been  more  than 
realized.  He  is  not  only  a  millionaire,  but  is  the 
owner  of  vessels  of  every  description,  from  the  gigan- 
tic steamer  that  plows  the  waves  with  fearful  rapid- 
ity, to  the  little  coaster,  whose  white  sails  spread  to 
every  breeze,  and  which  is  wafted  along  by  the 
breath  of  heaven. 

So  you  see,  my  little  friends,  that  perseverance 
will  accomplish  a  great  deal,  and  it  is  in  the  power 
of  both  rich  and  poor  to  attain  greatness.  Devote 
all  your  energies  to  one  object,  and  success  will 
surely  follow. 


THE    STRANDED    SHIP. 


TALES     AND      STORIES.  177 


AN  EXQUISITE  STORY  BY  LAMABTINE. 

IN  the  tribe  of  Neggdah,  there  was  a  horse,  whose 
fame  was  spread  far  and  near,  and  a  Bedouin  of 
another  tribe,  by  name  Daher,  desired  extremely  to 
possess  it.  Having  offered  in  vain  for  it  his  camels 
and  his  whole  wealth,  he  hit  at  length  upon  the 
following  device,  by  which  he  hoped  to  gain  the  ob- 
ject of  his  desire.  He  resolved  to  stain  his  face 
with  the  juice  of  an  herb,  to  clothe  himself  in  rags, 
to  tie  his  legs  and  neck  together,  so  as  to  appear 
like  a  lame  beggar.  Thus  equipped,  he  went  to 
wait  for  Nabor,  the  owner  of  the  horse,  who  he 
knew  was  to  pass  that  way.  When  he  saw  Nabor 
approaching  on  his  beautiful  steed,  he  cried  out  in  a 
weak  voice,  "  I  am  a  poor  stranger,  for  three  days  I 
have  been  unable  to  move  from  this  spot  to  seek  for 
food.  I  am  dying,  help  me  and  heaven  will  reward 
you."  The  Bedouin  kindly  offered  to  take  him  on 
his  horse  and  carry  him  home  ;  but  the  rogue  replied, 
"  I  cannot  rise  ;  I  have  no  strength  left."  Nabor, 
touched  with  pity,  dismounted,  led  his  horse  to  the 
spot ;  and  with  great  difficulty,  set  the  seeming  beg- 
gar on  his  back.  But  no  sooner  did  Daher  feel  him- 
self in  the  saddle,  than  he  set  spurs  to  the  horse  and 
galloped  off,  calling  out  as  he  did  so,  "  It  is  I,  Daher. 
I  have  got  the  horse  and  am  off  with  it."  Nabor 
called  after  him  to  stop  and  listen.  Certain  of  not 


178 


MERRYS     BOOK      OF 


AN    EXQUISITE    STORY    BY    LAMARTINK. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  179 

being  pursued,  he  turned  and  halted  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  Nabor,  who  was  armed  with  a  spear. 
"You  have  taken  my  horse,"  said  the  latter. 
"  Since  heaven  has  willed  it,  I  wish  you  joy  of  it ; 
but  I  do  conjure  you  never  to  tell  any  one  how  you 
obtained  it."  "  And  why  not  ?"  said  Daher.  "  Be- 
cause," said  the  noble  Arab,  "  another  man  might 
be  really  ill,  and  men  would  fear  to  help  him.  You 
would  be  the  cause  of  many  refusing  to  perform  an 
act  of  charity,  for  fear  of  being  duped  as  I  have 
been."  Struck  with  shame  at  these  words,  Daher 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  springing  from  the 
horse,  returned  it  to  its  owner  embracing  him. 
Nabor  made  him  accompany  him  to  his  tent,  where 
they  spent  a  few  days  together,  and  became  fast 
friends  for  life. 


180 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


WOLSEY   BRIDGE  ;   OR,   THE    BOY 
BACHELOR 


ON  the  south  side  of  the  ancient  passage  leading 
from  the  street  to  the  churchyard  of  St.  Ni- 
cholas, was  formerly  situated  the  commodious  house 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  181 

of  Thomas  Wolsey,  a  substantial  butcher  and  grazier, 
of  the  town  of  Ipswich,  in  the  sixteenth  century. 

This  Thomas  Wolsey  was  one  of  those  persons 
with  whom  the  acquisition  of  wealth  appears  to  be 
the  sole  purpose  of  existence.  It  was  his  boast 
"  that  he  had  thrice  trebled  the  patrimony  he  had 
derived  from  his  father,"  from  whom  he  had  inherited 
his  flourishing  business,  besides  some  personal  pro- 
perty. Acting  in  direct  contradiction  to  that  injunc- 
tion of  the  royal  psalmist,  "  If  riches  increase,  set 
not  your  heart  upon  them  •"  his  very  soul  appeared 
to  dwell  in  his  money  bags,  his  well  attended  sham- 
bles, or  the  pleasant  lowland  pastures  where  the 
numerous  flocks  and  herds  grazed,  the  profits  on 
which  he  calculated  would  so  materially  improve  his 
store.  He  made  no  show,  no  figure  among  his  fellow 
townsmen  ;  never  exchanging  his  long  blue  linen 
gown,  leathern  girdle,  and  coarse  brown  hose,  for 
any  other  apparel,  except  on  a  Sunday,  when  he 
wore  a  plain  substantial  suit  of  sad  colored  cloth, 
garnished  with  silver  buttons,  and  the  polished  steel 
and  huge  sheath  knife,  which  he  usually  wore  at  his 
side,  were  exchanged  for  a  silver-hilted  dagger  and 
an  antique  rosary  and  crucifix. 

Satisfied  with  the  conviction  that  he  was  one  of 
the  wealthiest  tradesmen  in  Ipswich,  he  saw  no  rea- 
son for  exciting  the  envy  of  the  poor  or  the  ill-will 
of  the  rich,  by  any  outward  demonstrations  of  the 
fact,  but  continued  to  live  in  the  same  snug,  plain 


182  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

manner  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  his 
early  days,  making  it  the  chief  desire  of  his  heart 
that  his  only  son,  Thomas,  should  tread  in  his  steps, 
and  succeed  him  in  his  prosperous  and  well-estab- 
lished business,  with  the  same  economical  habits 
and  an  equally  laudable  care  for  the  main  chance. 

The  maternal  pride  of  his  wife,  Joan,  who  was  the 
descendant  of  a  family  that  could  boast  of  gentle 
blood,  prompted  the  secret  hope  that  the  ready  wit 
and  studious  habits,  together  with  the  clerkly  skill 
and  learned  lore  which  the  boy  had  already  acquired 
at  the  grammar  school,  might  qualify  him  for  some- 
thing better  than  the  greasy  craft  of  a  butcher,  and 
perhaps  one  day  elevate  him  to  the  situation  of  port 
reeve  or  town  clerk.  But  for  the  boy  himself,  his 
youthful  ambition  pointed  at  higher  marks  than  the 
golden  speculations  of  trade  or  the  attainment  of 
lucrative  offices  and  civic  honors  in  his  native  town. 

From  the  first  moment  he  entered  the  grammar 
school,  and  took  his  place  on  the  lowest  seat  there, 
he  determined  to  occupy  the  highest,  and  to  this,  in 
an  almost  incredibly  brief  period  of  time,  he  had 
rapidly  ascended  ;  and  though  only  just  entering  his 
twelfth  year,  he  was  the  head  boy  in  the  school,  and, 
in  the  opinion  of  his  unlearned  father,  "  knew  more 
than  was  good  for  him." 

As  soon,  indeed,  as  his  son  Thomas  had  learned 
to  write  a  "  fair  clerkly  hand,  to  cast  accounts,  and 
construe  a  page  in  the  Breviary,"  he  considered  his 


TALES    -AND     STORIES. 


183 


education  complete,  and  was  desirous  of  saving  the 
expense  of  keeping  him  longer  at  school ;  but  here 
he  was  overruled  by  his  more  liberal-minded  wife 
Joan,  who,  out  of  the  savings  of  her  own  privy  purse, 
paid  the  quarterly  sum  of  eight-pence  to  the  master 
of  the  school,  for  the  further  instruction  of  her  hope- 
ful boy  Thomas,  whose  abilities  she  regarded  as 


GOING   TO    SCHOOL. 

little  less  than  miraculous.  Persons  better  qualified 
than  the  good  wife,  Joan  Wolsey,  to  judge  of  the 
natural  talents  and  precocious  acquirements  of  her 
son,  had  also  spoken  in  high  terms  of  his  progress  in 
the  learned  languages,  and  predicted  great  things  of 
him.  These  were  personages  of  no  less  importance 
than  the  head  master  of  the  Ipswich  grammar  school, 


L84  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

and  the  parish  priest  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  latter  of 
whom  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  hospitable 
messuage  of  master  Thomas  Wolsey  the  elder,  on 
the  ostensible  business  of  chopping  Latin  with  young 
Thomas,  and  correcting  his  Greek  exercises  for  him  ; 
but  no  doubt  the  spiced  tankards  of  flowing  ale,  and 
the  smoking  beef-steaks,  cut  from  the  very  choicest 
part  of  the  ox,  and  temptingly  cooked  by  the  well- 
skilled  hands  of  that  accomplished  housewife,  Joan 
Wolsey,  to  reward  him  for  his  good  report  of  her 
darling  boy's  proficiency,  had  some  influence  in 
drawing  father  Boniface  thither  so  often. 

The  bishop  of  the  diocese  himself  had  conde- 
scended to  bestow  unqualified  praise  on  the  graceful 
and  eloquent  manner  in  which,  when  he  visited  the 
school,  young  Wolsey  had  delivered  the  compli- 
mentary Latin  oration  on  that  occasion.  The  good- 
natured  prelate  had  even  condescended  to  pat  his 
curly  head  on  the  conclusion  of  the  address,  and  to 
say,  "  Spoken  like  a  cardinal,  my  little  man  !" 

From  that  moment  young  Wolsey  had  made  up 
his  mind  as  to  his  future  destiny.  It  was  to  no 
purpose  that  his  father  tried  the  alternate  eloquence 
of  entreaties,  reasoning,  promises  and  threats,  to  de- 
tach him  from  his  engrossing  studies,  and  induce 
him  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  lucrative  business  of  a 
butcher  and  grazier.  The  idea  of  such  servilely 
earned  pelf  was  revolting  to  the  excited  imagination 
of  the  youthful  student,  whose  mind  was  full  of 


TALKS      AND      STORIES.  185 

classic  imagery,  and  intent  on  the  attainment  of 
academic  honors,  the  steps  by  which  he  projected  to 
ascend  to  the  more  elevated  objects  of  his  ambition. 

The  church  was,  in  those  days,  the  only  avenue 
through  which  talented  persons  of  obscure  birth 
might  hope  to  arrive  at  greatness,  and  young  Wolsey 
replied  to  all  his  father's  exordiums  urging  him  to 
attend  to  the  cattle  market,  the  slaughter  house,  or 
the  shambles,  by  announcing  his  intention  of  becom- 
ing an  ecclesiastic. 

The  flush  of  anger  with  which  this  unwelcome 
declaration  had  clouded  the  brow  of  the  elder  Wol- 
sey was  perfectly  perceptible  when  he  returned  home 
after  the  fatigues  of  the  day  to  take  his  evening 
meal,  which  his  wife,  Joan,  was  busily  engaged  in 
preparing  for  him  over  the  fire  with  her  own  hands. 

"  1  knew  how  it  would  turn  out  all  along  of  your 
folly,  mistress,  in  keeping  the  boy  loitering  away  his 
time,  and  learning  all  manner  of  evil  habits  at  the 
grammar  school,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  bound 
apprentice  to  me,  and  learning  our  honest  craft,  for 
the  last  two  years,"  muttered  the  malcontent  butcher, 
throwing  himself  into  his  large  arm-chair,  lined  with 
sheep-skins. 

"  What  a  coil  the  woman  keeps  up  with  her  fry- 
ing pan,"  continued  he  peevishly,  on  perceiving  that 
the  discreet  Joan  appeared  disposed  to  drown  the 
ebullitions  of  his  wrath  in  the  hissing  and  bubbling 
of  the  fat  in  her  pan,  as  she  artfully  redoubled  her 
assiduity  in  shaking  it  over  the  blazing  hearth. 


186  MERRY'S   BOOK  OF 

"  Why,  Joan,"  he  pursued,  "  one  cannot  hear 
oneself  speak  for  the  noise  you  make." 

"  The  noise  is  all  of  your  own  making,  I  trow, 
master,"  replied  Joan,  continuing  to  stir  her  hissing, 
sputtering  pan  briskly  as  she  spoke. 

"I  say,  leave  off  that  frizzling  with  the  fat  in 
that  odious  pan,"  vociferated  he. 

"  So  I  will,  master,  if  you  wish  to  have  burnt  col- 
lops  for  your  supper  to-night,"  replied  Joan  meekly. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  1  have  any  supper  at  all," 
replied  the  butcher  testily  ;  "  I  am  vexed,  mistress." 

"  Good  lack  !  what  should  happen  to  vex  you, 
master!"  responded  his  wife.  "I  am  sure  the 
world  always  seems  to  wag  the  way  you'd  have  it 
go  ;  but  losses  and  crosses  in  business  will  chance 
even  to  the  most  prosperous,  at  times.  Is  one  of 
your  fat  beasts  dead  ?" 

"No!" 

"  Some  of  your  best  sheep  been  stolen  ?" 

"  No  1" 

"  Mayhap  then,  some  customer,  whom  you  have 
suffered  to  run  up  a  long  score,  is  either  dead  or 
bankrupt  ?" 

"  Worse  than  that,  mistress." 

"  I  prythee,  good  Thomas^  let  me  hear  the  truth 
at  once,"  exclaimed  the  startled  Joan,  upsetting  the 
frying  pan  into  the  fire  in  her  alarm.  "  The  mis- 
fortune must  be  great  that  hath  befallen  you,  if  it 
be  reckoned  by  you  worse  than  the  loss  of  money." 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  187 

"  Why,  mistress,  do  not  you  reckon  the  perverse 
inclinations  of  one's  own  flesh  and  blood  a  more 
serious  calamity  than  loss  of  substance  ?" 

"  Aye,  master  ;  but  that  is  a  trial  we  have  never 
had  the  sorrow  of  knowing  since  our  only  son, 
Thomas,  albeit  I  say  it  who  ought  not,  is  the  most 
dutiful,  diligent,  and  loving  lad,  that  ever  blessed  a 
parent's  heart,"  said  the  fond  mother,  melting  into 
tears  of  tenderness  as  she  spoke. 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  dame,"  cried  the  indignant 
husband,  darting  a  look  of  angry  reproach  on  the 
offending  youth,  who  had  been  comfortably  reposing 
himself  on  an  oaken  settle  by  the  fireside,  reading 
Virgil's  Eneid  by  the  light  of  the  blazing  embers, 
during  the  whole  of  the  discussion,  without  concern- 
ing himself  about  any  thing,  save  to  preserve  the 
beloved  volume  from  being  sprayed  by  the  fat  which 
the  frying-pan,  in  falling,  had  scattered  in  all  direc- 
tions. "  That  lad,  on  whom  you  bestow  such  foolish 
commendations,"  pursued  old  Wolsey ;  "  that  lad, 
whatever  might  have  been  his  former  virtuous  in- 
clinations, has  now  disappointed  all  my  hopes,  for 
he  hath  turned  an  errant  scape-grace,  and  refuseth 
to  become  a  batcher,  though  the  shambles  he  would 
inherit  from  me  are  the  largest,  the  most  com- 
modious, and  the  best  frequented  with  ready-penny 
customers,  of  any  on  the  market  hill.  Moreover,  it 
is  a  business  in  which  his  grandfather  got  money, 
and  I,  following  in  his  good  steps,  with  still  better 


188  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

success,  have  become — I  scorn  to  boast,  but  the 
truth  may  be  spoken  without  blame — one  of  the 
wealthiest  tradesmen  in  the  borough." 

O 

"  Then  the  less  need,  my  master,  of  enforcing 
such  a  clever  lad  as  our  Thomas  to  follow  a  craft 
which  is  so  unsuitable  for  a  scholar,"  observed  Joan. 

"  There,"  groaned  the  butcher,  "  was  the  folly  of 
making  him  one,  which  hath  been  the  means  of 
teaching  him  to  slight  the  main  chance,  and  to  turn 
his  head  with  pagan  poesies  or  monkish  lore.  Would 
you  believe  it,  mistress  Joan, — he  hath  had  the 
audacity  to  profess  his  desire  of  becoming  a  student 
at  the  university  of  Oxenford  !" 

"  And  why  should  he  not,  master  Wolsey,  since 
he  promiseth  to  become  a  learned  clerk  ?"  asked  the 
proud  mother. 

"  To  what  purpose  should  he  go  thither  ?"  said 
the  father. 

"  Marry,  master,  to  increase  his  learning,  and  to 
put  him  in  the  way  of  becoming  a  great  man," 
responded  mistress  Joan. 

"  A  great  man,  forsooth  !"  echoed  her  husband 
contemptuously  ;  "  who  ever  heard  of  a  butcher's 
son  becoming  a  person  of  distinction  ?" 

"  I  have  heard,  sir,"  said  young  Wolsey,  closing 
his  book  eagerly  ;  "I  have  heard  of  a  destitute 
swineherd  becoming  a  pope." 

"  Indeed  !"  ejaculated  his  father  with  an  air  of 
incredulity. 


TALES     AND      STORIES.  189 

"Yes,  sir,  it  was  Nicholas  Brekespeare,  afterwards 
Pope  Adrian  the  Fourth,  the  only  Englishman  who 
ever  filled  the  papal  chair,  but  perhaps  not  the  last 
whom  learning,  combined  with  persevering  enter- 
prise, may  conduct  to  that  eminence." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !"  cried  the  butcher,  bursting  into 
a  loud  laugh  ;  "I  wist  not  of  the  high  mark  at 
which  your  ambition  aimeth,  son  Thomas  !  Well, 
if  enabling  you  to  become  a  servitor  in  Magdalen 
College  will  advance  your  holiness  one  step  towards 
the  possession  of  St.  Peter's  keys,  I  will  not  withhold 
my  assistance  and  my  blessing,  though  much  I  doubt 
whether  it  will  carry  thee  into  the  Vatican,  or  what- 
ever you  call  it,  of  which  you  and  Father  Boniface 
are  always  talking." 

"  And  what  if  it  do  not  carry  him  quite  so  far, 
master,"  interposed  Joan,  "didst  thou  never  hear 
of  the  proverb,  He  who  reacheth  after  a  gown  of 
cloth  of  gold,  shall  scarcely  fail  of  getting  one  of  the 
sleeves  ?" 

•'  Ay,  mother  !"  cried  young  Wolsey  ;  "  and  when 
I  am  a  cardinal,  my  father  will  thank  you  for  the 
parable." 

"  Ah  !  if  I  ever  live  to  see  that  day,  son  Thomas  !" 
observed  the  butcher. 

"  Why  should  you  doubt  it,  master  ?"  asked  mis- 
tress Joan. 

"  Because,  wife,  it  is  easy  to  talk  of  dignities  and 
honors,  but  to  obtain  them  would  be  attended  with 


190  M  E  li  11  Y  '  S     BOOK      OF 

• 

difficulties,  which,  I  doubt  our  simple  son,  Thomas, 
will  find  insurmountable/' 

"  I  shall,  at  least,  lose  nothing  in  making  the  at- 
tempt/' observed  young  Wolsey. 

"  There  is  your  mistake,  boy  ;  you  will  lose  some- 
thing very  considerable,"  replied  his  father. 

"  Dear  father,  what  can  that  be  for  which  the  learn- 
ing I  shall  acquire  will  not  make  me  ample  amends  ?" 

"  The  most  flourishing  butchery  in  Ipswich,  sim- 
pleton !  which,  if  once  lost  through  your  inconside- 
rate folly,  you  may  study  till  doomsday,  and  acquire 
all  the  learning  in  popedom  and  heathenesse  into 
the  bargain,  without  being  able  to  re-establish  it  in 
its  present  prosperity,"  returned*  the  mortified  father 
with  a  groan. 

A  smile  which  the  younger  Wolsey  strove  in  vain 
to  repress,  played  over  his  features  at  these  words. 

"Ay,  scorn  and  slight  the  substantial  good  that 
is  within  your  reach  for  the  sake  of  the  vain  shadow 
which  is  beyond  your  power  to  obtain,  Thomas  Wol- 
sey," said  his  father  with  great  bitterness. 

"  My  dear  father,  you  know  little  of  the  powers 
of  the  human  mind,  or  of  the  mighty  things  which 
its  energies,  when  once  roused,  and  directed  towards 
one  object  may  effect." 

"  I  tell  you,  Thomas,  that  the  end  you  propose  is 
impossible." 

"  Sir,"  replk-d  young  Wolsey,  "  I  have  blotted 
that  word  out  of  MY  dictionary." 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  191 

"  I  like  your  spirit,  young  man/'  said  his  father, 
' '  albeit  it  savoreth  a  little  of  presumption." 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved/'  said  his  son,  "  and 
I  am  quite  ready  that  my  earnestness  should  be  tried 
by  any  test  you  may  be  inclined  to  demand. " 

"  1  shall  hold  you  to  your  word/'  replied  his  father, 
"  and  condition,  that  if  you  take  up  your  bachelor's 
degree  within  four  years  of  your  entering  Magdalen 
College,  then  shall  you  proceed  in  the  course  of  life 
on  which  you  are  so  determinately  bent  ;  but  i^jrou 
fail  in  doing  this,  then  shall  you  return  to  my  house, 
and  submit  your  future  destiny  to  my  disposal." 

"  If  I  take  it  not  up  within  two  years  of  my  en- 
tering the  college,  barring  accidents  of  sickness  or 
death,  then  strip  me  of  the  learned  stole  of  a  clerk 
of  Oxenford,  and  chain  me  to  your  girdle  as  a 
butcher's  slave  for  life,"  replied  the  youth  with 
heightened  color. 

"  Thou  hast  pledged  thyself  to  that  which  thou 
canst  not  perform,  son  Thomas,"  replied  his  father, 
"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  boy  of  fourteen  taking  up  a 
bachelor's  degree  at  Oxenford  ?" 

"  Thou  shalt  hear  of  one  anon,  mine  honored 
father,"  said  young  Wolsey. 

"  I  will  engage  that  thy  mother  shall  have  the 
finest  baron  of  beef  in  my  shambles  to  roast  for  din- 
ner on  the  day  on  which  I  hear  that  news,"  rejoined 
his  father. 

"  See  that  you  keep  my  father  to  his  promise, 


192 


MERRY    S     BOOK     OF 


mother,"  said  the  youth,  "  for  I  shall  travel  night 
and  day,  in  hopes  of  being  the  first  to  communicate 
the  intelligence,  or  at  any  rate,  to  arrive  in  time  to 
come  in  for  a  slice  of  the  beef  while  it  be  hot." 


The  important  object  being  now  accomplished  of 
obtaining  the  consent  of  the  elder  Wolsey  to  his 
son's  entering  the  university  of  Oxford,  the  lad 
commenced  his  journey  on  the  following  day  for  that 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  193 

ancient  seat  of  learning.  He  was  on  foot,  for  the 
sturdy  butcher,  his  father,  though  well  able  to  send 
him  thither  on  a  stout  pack-horse,  attended  by  one 
of  his  own  men,  was  determined  to  afford  no  facilities 
for  an  enterprise  to  which  he  had  so  little  relish. 

The  loving  care  of  mistress  Joan  Wolsey  had  sup- 
plied the  youthful  candidate  for  scarlet  stockings 
and  cardinal's  hat  with  a  few  silver  groats  for  his 
expenses  on  the  road,  and  a  needful  stock  of  linen 
and  other  necessaries,  which  he  carried  in  a  leathern 
wallet  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  a  stout  oaken 
staff;  but  that  which  young  Wolsey  considered 
more  precious  than  either  money  or  apparel,  was  a 
letter  of  recommendation  from  the  head  master  of 
the  Ipswich  grammar  school  to  the  master  of  Mag- 
dalen College. 

This  credential  obtained  for  its  lonely  and  friend- 
less bearer  that  attention  which  his  juvenile  appear- 
ance, diminutive  stature,  and  his  coarse  and  travel- 
soiled  attire,  would  most  probably  have  failed  of 
attracting. 

Having  passed  his  examination  with  great  credit 
to  himself,  he  was  admitted  as  a  servitor  of  Mag- 
dalen College.  In  this  novel  situation  young  Wol- 
sey had  some  difficulties,  and  not  a  few  hardships 
and  privations,  to  contend  with  ;  but  these,  when 
weighed  against  the  mighty  object  which  engrossed 
all  his  thoughts,  were  as  dust  in  the  balance,  and 
the  only  effect  they  had  was  to  increase  his  perse- 


194  ME  KEY'S  BOOK  OF 

vering  diligence.  At  the  end  of  the  first  term  he 
had  made  a  progress  which  astonished  bis  masters 
and  fellow  students.  Before  the  two  years  had  ex- 
pired within  which  the  lad  had  pledged  himself  to 
take  up  a  degree,  an  attempt  which  his  father  with 
reason  judged  unattainable  by  a  person  of  his  tender 
age,  the  good-wife  Joan  Wolsey,  in  great  haste,  en- 
tered the  shambles,  where  her  husband  was  preparing 
to  put  an  uncommonly  fine  baron  of  beef  into  the 
basket  of  a  nobleman's  servant,  and  laying  hands 
upon  it,  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Thomas  Wolsey,  what 
are  you  about  to  do  with  that  meat  ?" 

"  To  send  it  to  the  house  of  my  lord,  according  to 
order,  to  be  sure,  mistress,"  replied  the  butcher,  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 

es  An  it  had  been  ordered  by  King  Henry  him- 
self, he  should  not  have  it  to-day,"  said  Mistress 
Joan. 

"Is  your  wife  delirit,  master  Wolsey?"  asked 
the  servant. 

"  One  would  suppose  so  by  her  wild  words,"  said 
the  astonished  butcher,  who  knew  not  what  to  think 
of  the  behavior  of  his  usually  discreet  spouse. 

"  If  I  be,  master,  it  is  with  joy,"  replied  Joan 
Wolsey  ;  "  but  the  truth  is,  I  came  hither  to  claim 
the  finest  baron  of  beef  in  the  shambles,  which  you 
said  I  should  roast  for  dinner  on  the  day  on  which 
you  heard  the  news  of  our  son,  Thomas  Wolsey, 
taking  up  a  bachelor's  degree  at  Oxenford." 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  195 

"And  who  brought  you  the  intelligence,  mis- 
tress ?"  demanded  her  husband. 

"  A  joyful  messenger,  my  good  man,  for  it  was 
the  boy  himself,  blessings  on  him  !  dressed  in  his 
bachelor's  gown,  and  bearing  the  certificate  of  his 
admission  as  a  fellow  of  Magdalen  College." 

"Humphrey  !"  cried  the  delighted  father,  turn- 
ing to  his  head-man,  "  take  that  baron  of  beef  home 
to  my  house,  and  help  thy  mistress  to  split  it,  and 
put  it  down  to  the  fire,  that  my  boy  bachelor  may 
dine  off  the  best  joint  in  my  shambles  ;  and  do  you, 
master  Ealph,"  added  he,  turning  to  his  lordship's 
servant,  "  make  my  duty  to  my  lord,  and  ask  him, 
if  he  will  be  pleased  to  put  up  with  rump  or  ribs  to- 
day, since  the  baron  of  beef,  for  which  his  house- 
keeper hath  sent,  was  bespoken  nearly  two  years  be- 
fore his  order  came,  and  my  good  dame  hath  come 
to  claim  my  pledge  in  earnest." 

"  Which  my  lord  is  too  strict  an  observer  of  his 
own  word  to  wish  you  to  forfeit  on  his  account,  I  am 
sure,  master  Wolsey,"  said  Kalph  :  "  and  when  I 
explain  the  pleasant  cause  for  which  you  have  made 
bold  to  disappoint  his  lordship  of  his  favorite  dish 
to-day,  he,  who  is  himself  a  scholar  and  a  patron  of 
learning  withal,  will  hold  you  excused." 

This  day  being  a  holiday,  the  head  master  of  the 
Ipswich  grammar  school,  several  of  young  Wolsey's 
chosen  friends  among  the  scholars,  and  the  good- 
humored  curate  of  St.  Nicholas^  were  invited  to  par- 


196  MKBRY'S    BOOK    OF 

take  of  the  baron  of  beef  which  the  young  bachelor 
had  so  honorably  earned,  and  which  Mrs.  Joan  Wol- 
sey  cooked  in  her  most  approved  style,  to  the  great 
satisfaction  of  her  husband  and  the  guests. 

This  was  one  of  the  long  vacations,  but  no  season 
of  idleness  to  young  Wolsey,  whose  unremitting  ap- 
plication to  study  impaired  his  appetite,  and  ren- 
dered him  languid  and  feverish,  which  his  anxious 
mother  perceiving,  and  feeling  some  alarm  lest  his 
incessant  mental  toil  might  injure  his  naturally  fee- 
ble constitution,  she  communicated  her  uneasiness 
to  her  husband,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  not  con- 
trive some  little  pleasant  employment  for  him,  which 
would  have  the  effect  of  diverting  him  for  a  few 
days  from  his  sedentary  occupations. 

"  Ay,  ay,  dame,"  replied  old  Wolsey,  "  I  have  a 
choice  bit  of  pastime  for  the  boy  ;  he  shall  go  with 
Humphrey  and  Peter  and  Miles  to  buy  beeves  off 
the  Southwold  and  Reydon  commons  and  marshes." 

"  That  would  do  well  enough,  master,  if  the  lad 
were  any  judge  of  cattle,  which  I  fear,  with  all  his 
college  learning,  he  is  not,"  responded  mistress 
Joan. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  mistress,"  rejoined  the 
butcher,  "  for,  though  he  hath  been  born,  bred,  and 
nourished  in  the  midst  of  such  matters,  and  he  is 
observant  enough  in  other  things,  yet  I  would  an- 
swer for  it,  he  knoweth  not  the  difference  between 
a  fat  beast  and  a  lean  one,  a  Scot  or  a  home-bred, 


TALES     AND     STORIES. 


197 


yea  scarcely  between  a  long  horn  or  a  snort ;  and 
were  I  to  send  him  on  this  business  of  mine  without 
my  shrewd  foreman,  Humphrey,  to  instruct  his  ig- 
norance and  detect  the  knavery  of  the  sellers,  he 
would  bring  me  home  pretty  bargains  of  beasts 


>* 

against  the  Easter  festivals.  Why  these  fat  monks 
of  Reydon,  who  are  far  better  skilled  in  grazing  for 
the  Ipswich  and  Yarmouth  markets  than  in  their 
church  Latin,  would  be  sure  to  palm  their  old  worn- 
out  mortuary  cows  upon  him  for  fine  young  heifers, 
and  make  him  pay  the  price  of  three-year  old  steers 


198  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

for  their  broken-down  yoke  oxen  that  had  plowed 
the  convent  lands  for  the  last  ten  years.  But,  as  I 
said  before,  Humphrey  shall  go  with  him,  who  is 
used  to  their  tricks  of  old,  and  will  bid  them  half 
their  asking  price  at  a  word,  which  our  Thomas 
would  be  ashamed  of  doing  to  men  of  their  cloth 
were  he  left  to  himself,  so  he  shall  only  have  the 
pleasant  part  of  the  business,  to  wit,  listening  to  the 
chaffering,  and  paying  down  the  money  when  the 
price  is  agreed  upon  by  those  who  are  wiser  in  such« 
matters  than  himself." 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  for  him  to  perform  the 
journey,  master,  for  the  places  whereof  you  speak 
are  many  miles  distant  ?"  said  Joan. 

"  Under  forty  miles,  wife,  which  will  be  no  great 
stretch  for  Miles  and  Peter  (who  are  to  drive  the 
cattle)  to  walk  ;  as  for  Thomas,  he  shall  ride  my 
gray  mare,  and  Humphrey  can  take  the  black  nag, 
and  give  Miles  and  Peter  a  lift  behind  him  by  turns, 
which  will  ease  their  legs,  and  make  it  a  pleasant 
journey  for  them  all.  Ah  !  that  part  of  Suffolk  is 
a  fine  grazing  country  to  travel  through.  I  am  sure 
I  shall  envy  Thomas  the  prospect  of  so  many  herds 
and  flocks  as  he  will  see  on  those  upland  meads  and 
salt-marshes  ;  but  he  will  think  more  of  chopping 
Latin  with  the  monks  of  Blitheborough,  and  looking 
over  their  old  musty  books  and  records,  which  could 
never  give  a  hungry  man  his  dinner,  than  of  all  the 
sensible  sights  he  might  see  by  the  way." 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  199 

"  Every  one  to  his  vocation,  master/'  replied  Joan 
Wolsey ;  "  yours  is  to  feed  the  bodies,  and  my 
Thomas'  will  be  to  nourish  the  minds  of  men  with 
a  more  enduring  food  than  that  which  you* have  it 
in  your  power  to  provide." 

"  Gramercy,  mistress  !"  said  the  butcher,  with  a 
grin  ;  "  one  would  think  he  had  been  feasting  you 
on  some  of  his  improving  diet,  for  you  begin  to 
discourse  like  a  doctor." 

The  next  day  by  peep  of  dawn,  the  quartette  set 
forth  from  St.  Nicholas'  passage  on  their  expedition, 
on  which  no  one  reckoned  more  than  young  Wolsey, 
who  wearing  his  college  cap  and  gown,  the  latter  of 
which  was  tucked  up  round  his  waist,  lest  its  long 
full  skirts  should  impede  his  horsemanship,  was 
mounted  on  his  father's  easy-pacing  gray  mare. 
For  the  convenience  of  riding  he  was  accommodated 
with  a  pair  of  the  old  man's  boots,  which  drew  up 
far  above  his  knees,  and  were  wide  enough  to  admit 
three  pair  of  legs  like  the  stripling's  slender  limbs. 
He  rode  cautiously  at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade, 
taking  care  to  keep  close  to  Humphrey,  who  jogged 
along  very  comfortably  on  the  black  nag,  whose 
mettle,  if  ever  it  had  possessed  any,  was  tamed  by 
the  wear  and  tear  of  fifteen  years  of  service  in  the 
butcher's  cart. 

Miles  and  Peter  trudged  steadily  along  with  their 
quarter  staffs  in  their  hands,  relying  on  their  own 
excellent  pedestrianisni  to  reach  the  ultimate  place 


200  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

of  their  destination  almost  as  soon  as  the  horsemen 
of  the  party,  whose  steeds  they  knew  would  be 
sorely  jaded  before  they  reached  St.  Peter's,  Wang- 
ford,  where  their  master  had  directed  them  to  crave 
lodging  for  the  night  of  the  monks  of  Clugni,  who 
there  occupied  a  cell  dependent  on  the  monastery 
of  Thetford,  which  also  was  the  parent  house  of  the 
cell  at  Reydon. 

The  two  saucy  knaves  occasionally  exchanged  sly 
glances,  and  cracked  dry  jokes  on  the  unsuitable 
array  and  cautious  riding  of  the  young  Oxford 
student,  their  master's  son,  and  the  steady  jog  trot 
of  Humphrey,  who  rode  quite  at  his  ease  on  a  soft 
sheepskin  which  supplied  the  place  of  a  saddle,  by 
being  tightly  buckled  with  a  broad  leathern  strap 
under  the  belly  of  the  black  nag,  whose  quiet  tem- 
per allowed  her  to  be  ridden  safely  without  stirrups. 

The  sun  rose  brightly  in  a  soft  April  sky  by  the 
time  they  reached  Woodbridge.  Young  Wolsey 
had  now  become  familiar  with  the  paces  of  the  gray 
mare,  and  the  excitement  of  the  exercise,  the  beauty 
of  the  morning,  the  invigorating  freshness  of  the  air, 
and  lovely  succession  of  new  and  agreeable  objects, 
contributing  to  raise  his  spirits,  he  soon  began  to 
assume  a  little  more  of  the  cavalier,  and  occasionally 
used  the  whip  and  the  spurs,  in  defiance  of  all 
Humphrey's  prudential  cautions.  Nature  had  well 
qualified  the  youthful  student,  both  in  form  and 
agility,  to  play  the  graceful  horseman,  and  before 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  201 

they  arrived  at  Wickham  Market,  the  skill  and 
boldness  with  which  he  managed  his  steed  was  a 
matter  of  surprise  to  the  whole  party. 

At  this  little  town  they  stopped,  and  refreshed 
both  men  and  beasts  with  a  substantial  breakfast, 
and  then  set  forward  on  their  journey  with  renewed 
spirits.  Young  Wolsey,  who  had  a  purpose  of  his 
own  to  answer,  put  his  father's  mare  to  her  speed, 
and  soon  left  the  pedestrian  Peter,  and  the  hapless 
nag  with  its  double  burden,  of  Humphrey  and  Miles, 
far  in  the  rear,  regardless  of  their  shouts  of  "  Fair 
play,  master  Thomas  !  fair  play  !"  and  "  Alack, 
alack,  sir,  have  a  care  of  our  good  master's  mare  I" 

But  the  stripling,  who  liked  not  the  repeated 
hints  which  Humphrey  had  given  him  of  the  pro- 
priety and  expediency,  to  say  nothing  of  the  kind- 
ness, of  giving  poor  Peter  a  lift  behind  him,  now 
they  were  clear  of  the  houses,  was  determined  to 
ride  forward,  not  wishing  the  bachelor's  cap  and 
gown  to  appear  in  such  close  fellowship  with  the 
butcher's  blue  and  greasy  buff  of  his  father's  men. 
Besides,  he  greatly  desired,  instead  of  keeping  the 
log- trot  pace  that  suited  their  convenience,  to  gain 
an  hour  or  two  to  spend  with  the  monks  of  the 
Holyrood  at  Blitheborough,  and  to  examine  the 
antiquities,  architecture,  and  localities  of  that  an- 
cient and  interesting  place,  through  which  the  route 
chalked  out  for  him  by  his  father  lay  ;  but  the  elder 
Wolsey  had  strictly  charged  Humphrey  in  his  hear- 


202  MERRY'S    BOOK   or 

ing,  "  not  to  permit  his  young  master  to  delay  their 
journey,  by  wasting  his  time  and  theirs  in  prating 
Lating  gibberish  with  the  black  locust  of  Blithe- 
borough/'  (as  he  irreverently  styled  those  worthy 
anchorites,)  "  especially  as  he  did  not  want  to  deal 
with  them  for  sheep,  the  last  he  had  bought  .off  their 
walks  having  proved  a  very  bad  bargain." 

Now  young  Wolsey,  when  he  heard  this  caution, 
secretely  resolved  to  arrange  matters  so  as  to  enjoy 
the  conference  with  the  monks  without  either  infrin- 
ging his  father's  directions,  or  being  pestered  with 
the  company  of  his  blue-frocked  retainers.  So  he 
prest  his  mare  on,  and  though,  as  well  as  her,  sorely 
wearied  with  the  unwonted  number  of  miles  he  had 
traversed,  his  youthful  spirits  carried  him  forward 
with  unabated  energy,  till,  on  descending  the  last 
hill  after  crossing  the  extensive  track  of  purple  heath, 
known  by  the  name  of  Blitheborough  Sheep-walks, 
that  most  stately  structure,  the  church  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  rose  before  him  in  all  the  magnificence  of 
the  monastic  ages  of  its  glory,  in  the  elaborate  rich- 
ness of  the  florid  gothic  architecture,  untouched  by 
time  and  unimpaired  by  accident,  with  the  bright 
sunbeams  playing  and  flashing  on  the  many-colored 
stains  of  its  wide  and  lofty  windows. 

Young  Wolsey  checked  his  horse,  and  gazed  upon 
this  noble  edifice  with  the  enthusiasm  natural  to 
the  future  founder  of  colleges  and  gothic  buildings  ; 
then  slowly,  and  looking  often  backwards,  he  pro- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  203 

ceeded  to  the  cell  and  chapel  of  the  Holyrood,  which 
indeed  was  so  contiguous  to  the  spot  that  he  was 
able  still  to  enjoy  a  close  view  of  the  new  church,  as 
it  was  then  called,  while  he  partook  of  the  good 
cheer  which  the  hospitable  fraternity  produced  for 
his  refreshment,  and  to  which  the  hungry  stripling 
did  ample  justice. 

As  the  bells  were  chiming  for  vespers,  monastic 
etiquette  compelled  him  to  accompany  the  monks 
to  their  pretty  chapel  ;  and  when  the  evening  service 
was  concluded,  the  friendly  monks  gratified  their 
visitor  with  an  interior  view  of  the  church  of  the 
Holy  Trinity,  and  pointed  out  to  him  its  rich  car- 
vings, screens,  trellises,  and  magnificently  sculp- 
tured and  emblazoned  roof. 

Young  Wolsey  had  been  too  deeply  engaged  in 
the  contemplation  of  these  interesting  localities  to 
embrace  the  opportunity  of  displaying  his  own 
learning  to  the  friendly  monks,  who  had  treated  him 
with  the  respect  which  his  natural  talents  and  early 
acquirements  were  well  calculated  to  inspire,  and 
pressingly  invited  him  to  sojourn  with  them  during 
the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  pass  the  night  in  their 
dormitory  ;  but  the  importunities  of  Humphrey 
(who,  with  Peter  and  Miles,  had  arrived  while  he 
was  at  Vespers,  and  having  refreshed  themselves 
and  the  black  nag,  were  now  clamorous  to  proceed) 
prevailing  over  his  desire  of  accepting  an  invitation 
so  agreeable  to  his  own  inclinations,  he  took  a  lov- 


204  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

ing  farewell  of  the  hospitable  fraternity,  promising 
to  find  some  way  of  gratifying  his  wish  of  passing  a 
few  hours  with  them  on  his  return.  Then  mount- 
ing the  gray  mare,  he  rode  forward  at  a  gentle  pace 
with  his  weary  and  somewhat  malcontent  compan- 
ions, who  scrupled  not  to  reproach  him  for  the  want 
of  good  fellowship  he  had  displayed  in  deserting 
their  company.  Nor  did  Humphrey  fail  to  exert 
the  privilege  of  an  old  and  trusted  servant,  by  rating 
his  young  master  soundly  for  having  over-heated 
the  gray  mare  on  a  long  journey,  besides  incurring 
much  peril  of  accidents  both  to  himself  and  that 
valuable  animal,  on  account  of  his  being  an  inex- 
perienced rider,  and  quite  unacquainted  with  the 
road. 

The  young  student  who  was  of  course  rather  im- 
patient of  these  rebukes,  which  he  considered  very 
derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  a  bachelor  of  Oxford  to 
receive  from  butchers  and  cattle  drovers,  endeavored 
to  escape  from  them  by  a  repetition  of  his  offence, 
namely,  outriding  the  party  ;  but  that  was  no  lon- 
ger in  his  power,  for  he  had  fairly  knocked  up  the 
gray  mare  so  that  she  was  unable  to  compete  with 
the  shabby  nag  on  which  Humphrey  rode,  and  the 
only  alternative  left  him  was  to  listen  meekly,  or  to 
turn  a  deaf  ear,  to  the  reproaches  that  assailed  him 
right  and  left,  and  amuse  himself  with  his  own  re- 
flections, 0£  in  contemplating  the  charms  of  the 
varied  landscape  before  him,  when,  on  ascending  the 


TALES-    AND     STORIES.  205 

gentle  hill  leading  from  Blitheburgh,  he  found  Lim- 
self  among  the  rich  woods  and  cowslipped  meads  ot 
Henham,  whose  castellated  hall,  then  the  residence 
of  the  Brandons,  rose  in  all  its  gothic  grandeur  over 
grove  and  vale,  as  the  crowning  object  of  the  pros- 
pect, but  was  soon  after  hidden  behind  the  inter- 
vening screen  of  deep  embowering  shades,  which 
were  then  almost  impervious  to  the  light  of  day,  and 
converted  the  advancing  gloom  of  evening  into  early 
night.  No  sooner  was  the  party  involved  in  this 
obscurity,  than  the  offended  trio,  Humphrey,  Miles, 
and  Peter,  united  their  voices  in  a  universal  chorus 
of  grumbling  at  their  detention  at  Blitheburgh,  de- 
claring they  were  benighted,  and  should  in  all 
probability  be  robbed  of  the  sum  entrusted  to  them 
for  the  purchase  of  the  cattle. 

The  welcome  sound  of  the  curfew  bell  of  St. 
Peter's,  Wangford,  however,  soon  informed  them 
that  their  apprehensions  were  groundless,  and  put 
them  into  better  humor,  by  advertising  them  that 
they  were  not  more  than  a  mile  distant  from  the 
place  of  their  destination ;  and  presently,  after 
emerging  from  beneath  the  sombre  shadows  of  Hen- 
ham's  oaken  glades,  they  found  themselves  once 
more  in  day-light,  and  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  pretty  village  of  Wangford,  which,  with  its 
picturesque  monastery  and  chapel  of  St.  Peter's, 
crowning  a  gentle  eminence,  lay  full  before  them. 

The  pastoral  rivulet  of  the  Wang,  from   which 


206  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

the  name  of  this  hamlet  is  derived,  was  soon  forded 
by  the  weary  travelers,  who,  proceeding  to  the  little 
convent,  obtained  without  difficulty  food  and  shelter 
for  the  night.  The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  matins 
were  over,  which  service  they  of  course  considered 
themselves  bound  to  attend,  they  set  forward  on 
their  short  journey  to  the  neighboring  monastery  of 
Key  d  on. 

Leaving  its  green  bowery  labyrinth  of  sylvan 
lanes,  its  antique  hall  and  park,  its  aboriginal  forest 
and  the  gray  spire  of  its  venerable  church,  and  all 
that  was  pleasing  and  attractive  in  the  landscape  of 
the  Reydon,  or  the  red  hill  (which  its  Saxon  name 
signifies.)  to  the  left,  Humphrey  guided  the  party 
through  a  narrow,  wet,  and  incommodious  road,  to  a 
mean  conventual  building,  situated  at  the  most 
desolate  extremity  of  the  parish,  among  the  salt 
marshes. 

If  Wolsey  had  expected  to  find  learning,  piety,  or 
hospitality  among  this  fraternity,  he  was  certainly 
much  dissapointed  ;  for  a  set  of  more  illiterate  and 
narrow-minded  men  than  these  Reydon  monks  were 
never  congregated  together.  Far  from  expressing 
the  least  interest  in  the  acquirements  of  their  accom- 
plished yor.!)^  guest,  they  received  the  intelligence 
of  his  proficiency  in  the  learned  languages  with  dis- 
may, and  appeared  far  better  pleased  with  the  con- 
versation of  Humphrey,  Peter  and  Miles,  which  in- 
deed was  more  in  unison  with  their  tastes  than  that 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  207 

of  the  scholastic  Wolsey,  whom  they  entertained 
with  long  dissertations,  not  on  the  fathers  or  the 
classics,  but  on  the  most  profitable  breeds  of  cattle, 
and  the  most  approved  modes  of  fatting  swine,  in 
all  which  matters  they  were  very  fluent,  and  appear- 
ed to  consider  it  passing  strange  that  a  butcher's  son 
possessed  so  little  knowledge  on  such  interesting 
topics.  They  also  discussed  the  best  methods  of 
curing  white  bacon,  as  the  fat  of  pickled  pork  is 
called  in  that  part  of  Suffolk.  On  this  delectable 
article  Wolsey  and  his  party  had  the  felicity  of  sup- 
ping that  evening,  which  he  afterwards  declared  was 
the  dullest  he  ever  spent  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
life. 

The  next  morning  the  fraternity  proceeded  with 
their  guests  to  the  marshes  where  their  cattle  fed, 
where  a  long  and  animated  discussion  took  place 
between  Humphrey  and  the  superior  of  the  convent 
respecting  the  price,  the  merits,  and  defects  of  the 
beasts  which  Humphrey  deemed  most  worthy  of  his 
attention,  in  which  so  much  time  was  wasted  that 
the  dinner  bell  rang  before  they  had  settled  the  price 
of  so  much  as  one  bullock. 

At  this  meal  they  were  again  regaled  with  white 
bacon,  which  appeared  a  standing  dish  in  this  con- 
vent, for  it  was  produced  at  supper,  breakfast,  and 
dinner  ;  at  the  latter,  indeed,  there  was  the  addition 
of  a  huge  dish  of  hard  dumplings,  with  which  they 
devoured  a  quantity  of  pork-dripping  by  way  of  sauce. 


208  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

The  morning  had  been  fine  but  showery,  in  the 
afternoon  a  heavy  rain  set  in,  which  rendered  it  im- 
possible either  to  visit  the  cattle-marshes  again,  or 
to  proceed  homewards,  which  young  Wolsey  recom- 
mended his  father's  men  to  do,  on  the  conviction  of 
the  impossibility  of  ever  concluding  a  bargain  with 
these  frocked  and  cowled  dealers  in  cattle  and  feed- 
ers of  swine. 

The  rain,  however,  continued  without  intermis- 
sion, and  the  malcontent  student  was  compelled  to 
remain  where  he  was  till  the  "  plague  of  water," 
as  he  called  this  unwelcome  down-pouring,  should 
abate. 

The  following  morning  proving  fine,  they  again 
proceeded  to  the  marshes  in  hope  of  striking  a  bar- 
gain, which  was  at  length  concluded  ;  but  not  till 
after  a  delay  that  appeared  to  the  impatient  Wol- 
sey almost  interminable,  which  time  he  employed, 
not  in  listening  to  the  altercations  of  the  buyer  and 
sellers  of  the  bullocks  ;  but  in  strolling  through  the 
marshes  and  making  observations,  till  he  obtained  a 
view  of  Blitheburgh  on  the  line  of  country  that  in- 
tervened, across  which  he  persuaded  himself  a  much 
shorter  cut  to  that  village  might  be  made  than  by 
following  the  usual  road  through  Wangford.  Just 
as  he  had  come  to  the  resolution  of  attempting  that 
route,  the  convent  bell  rang  for  dinner,  and  sum- 
moned him  to  a  sixth  meal  of  white  bacon,  of  which 
the  monks  ate  with  as  keen  an  appetite  as  if  it  had 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  209 

been  the  first  time  they  ever  partook  of  that  savory 
fare,  of  which  Wolsey  was  by  this  time  almost  as 
weary  as  of  the  company  of  the  founders  of  the  en- 
tertainment. 

The  bullocks,  twelve  in  number,  were  now  driven 
into  the  convent  yard,  and  Humphrey  called  upon 
his  young  master  to  pay  down  the  price  for  which 
he  and  the  monks  had  agreed,  at  the  average  sum  of 
one  pound  ten  shillings  a  head,  which  he  pronounced 
an  unconscionable  sum  with  a  sly  wink  of  intelli- 
gence at  the  Oxford  student,  by  which  he  gave  the 
youth,  who  was  about  to  take  his  words  literally,  to 
understand  that  he  was  well  satisfied  with  the  bar- 
gain. In  fact,  the  Reydon  monks,  shrewd  and  ex- 
acting as  they  were,  had  met  with  more  than  their 
match  in  the  calculating,  experienced  Humphrey, 
who,  without  making  a  boast  of  his  wisdom  in  this 
way,  knew  how  to  judge  of  the  weight  of  a  living  ox 
almost  to  an  odd  pound.  Till  the  business  was 
concluded,  the  money  paid,  and  the  receipt  given, 
he  had  forborne  to  taste  of  the  convent  mead  or  ale, 
though  both  had  been  pressed  upon  him  with  an 
earnestness  passing  the  bounds  either  of  politeness 
or  hospitality  by  the  cunning  monks,  who  hoped  to 
overcome  Humphrey's  cool,  clear  judgment  and 
caution,  by  means  of  the  merry  brown  bowl ;  but 
now  all  fear  of  being  overreached  in  his  bargain 'in 
consequence  of  such  an  indulgence  was  at  an  end, 
Humphrey,  in  spite  of  all  his  young  master's  ex- 


210  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

postulations,  demanded  the  lately-rejected  beverage, 
of  which  he,  with  Miles  and  Peter,  drank  pretty 
freely,  though  not  perhaps  so  much  as  they  would 
have  done  had  the  cloistered  cattle-dealers  been 
willing  to  produce  more,  which  they  were  always 
sparing  in  doing  after  a  bargain  had  been  definitely 
struck. 

The  draughts  which  the  trio  had  swallowed  had 
had,  however,  the  effect  of  putting  them  all  into 
such  high  good  humor,  that  when  Wolsey,  on 
mounting,  proposed  to  them  his  plan  of  changing 
the  roundabout  route  through  Wangford,  for  a 
straight  cut  across  the  marshes  to  Blitheburgh,  they 
offered  no  objection,  for  even  the  prudent  Humphrey 
was  desirous  of  adopting  any  expedient  by  which 
they  might  make  up  for  the  time  they  had  lost  in 
drinking  the  convent  ale  after  the  business  was 
transacted. 

The  monks  assured  them  the  project  was  feasible, 
since  the  branch  of  the  Blithe  which  separated  Hen- 
ham  and  Keydon  was  fordable,  and  they  would  save 
a  considerable  distance  by  crosing  the  river,  but  their 
hospitality  did  not  extend  to  the  civility  of  sending 
one  of  their  swine-herds  or  goose-boys  to  point  out 
the  precise  spot  at  which  the  attempt  might  be 
made  without  danger  to  passengers.  The  stream 
\v.-is  much  swollen  in  consequence  of  the  late  heavy 
rains  ;  Humphrey  and  the  drovers  paused  on  the 
rushy  bank,  each  prudently  declining  to  be  the  first 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  211 

to  try  the  ford.  Wolsey,  who  was  piqued  at  their 
doubts  of  his  assurance  "  that  it  was  safe  !  perfectly 
safe  !"  though  he  would  rather  have  had  one  of  the 
others  show  a  demonstrable  proof  that  there  was  no 
danger,  urged  his  reluctant  mare  forward. 

"  Hold,  master  Thomas,  hold  !  for  the  love  of  St. 
Margaret,"  cried  Humphrey,  who  was  suddenly  so- 
bered by  the  sight  of  his  young  master's  peril,  and 
the  recollection  that  the  stream  was  deep  and  muddy. 

"  Now  this  St.  Margaret  was  a  saint  for  whom 
Wolsey  had  neither  love  nor  reverence  ;  so,  without 
heeding  the  adjuration  so  pathetically  addressed  to 
him  in  her  name,  he  boldly  plunged  into  the  dark 
and  swollen  waters  of  the  dangerous  ford.  He  was, 
as  we  have  seen,  an  inexperienced  rider  on  dry  land, 
but  a  more  skillful  horseman  than  the  stripling  stu- 
dent would  have  found  it  a  difficult  matter  to  re- 
tain his  seat  and  guide  the  terrified  animal,  who 
presently  lost  her  footing,  and  began  to  plunge  and 
kick  in  the  muddy  slippery  ooze  of  which  the  bed 
of  the  Blithe  and  its  dependent  streams  are  compo- 
sed, and  which  having  recently  been  violently  dis- 
turbed by  the  heavy  rains,  was  in  a  state  of  com- 
plete ferment  and  liquefaction. 

Wolsey,  though  encumbered  with  his  bachelor's 
gown,  which  he  had  not  this  time  taken  the  precau- 
tionary measure  of  tucking  up  and  fastening  to  his 
girdle,  courageously  maintained  his  seat  till  the 
mare,  exhausted  with  her  violent  efforts,  sunk,  and 


212  KERRY'S   BOOK  OF 

left  him  floating  on  the  stream.  He  was  an  expert 
swimmer  in  the  clear  calm  Orwell,  or  the  pastoral 
Gripping,  his  native  streams,  but  scarcely  a  fish  that 
had  been  used  to  the  fresh  sparkling  element  of  such 
rivers  as  these,  could  have  steered  its  course  in  the 
dark  vortex  of  brackish  mud  in  which  poor  Wolsey 
was  immersed. 

Peter  and  Miles  stood  aghast  at  the  accident, 
uttering  doleful  cries  for  help,  without  venturing  to 
make  a  single  effort  to  save  the  almost  exhausted 
youth.  Humphrey,  the  faithful  Humphrey,  at  the 
first  alarm  had  dismounted  from  the  ;nag,  and  was 
preparing  to  plunge  into  the  stream  to  save  his  mas- 
ter's son  or  perish  in  the  attempt,  when  one  of  Sir 
Kichard  Brandon's  wood-rangers,  who  had  seen  the 
accident  and  hastened  to  the  spot,  reached  the  end 
of  the  long  pole  he  had  been  using  in  leaping  the 
marsh  ditches,  to  the  youth,  by  which  assistance, 
the  stream  being  narrow  at  that  place,  he  was  ena- 
bled, though  not  without  some  difficulty,  to  gain 
the  opposite  bank,  from  which,  as  soon  as  he  had 
cleared  his  eyes  and  mouth  of  the  salt,  bitter,  and 
unsavory  ooze  he  had  been  compelled  to  swallow, 
he  called  out  in  an  accent  of  distress  to  Humphrey, 
"  0,  Humphrey,  Humphrey  !  what  shall  we  say  to 
my  father  about  the  gray  mare  ?" 

"  St.  Margaret  take  the  mare  !"  sobbed  Humph- 
rey, who  appeared  to  consider  this  patroness  as 
somehow  chargeable  with  the  mishap  ;  "  don't  talk 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  213 

of  her,  my  dear  boy,  when  she  had  nearly  been  the 
death  of  you.  Howsomdever,  master  Thomas,  you 
must  never  undertake  to  lead  those  who  are  wiser 
than  yourself  short  cuts  any  more.  I  hope  you 
have  had  enough  of  this  precious  ford,  that  was  to 
take  you  such  a  near  way  to  Blitheburgh." 

"  Why  so  it  will,  you  simple  fellow,"  said  Wolsey 
laughing,  and  wiping  the  mud  from  his  face  ;  "  do 
riot  you  see  the  beautiful  church  over  those  marshes, 
almost  at  my  elbow  ?  I  shall  bestir  myself  to  get 
there  as  fast  as  I  can,  now  I  am  over  the  water, 
that  I  may  get  dry  clothes,  a  good  supper,  and 
some  pleasant  chat  with  the  worthy  monks  of  the 
Holy  Rood,  which  will  console  me  for  the  drenching 
I  have  got." 

"  Alack,  alack  !  master  Thomas  !  what  is  to  be- 
come of  us  and  the  bullocks  ?"  howled  Miles  and 
Peter  from  the  opposite  bank. 

"  You  may  come  over  the  river  to  me,  an  you 
like,"  responded  Wolsey  from  the  other  side. 

"  We  durst  not  do  that  for  our  lives,"  cried  the 
trembling  drovers. 

"  Then  turn  yourselves  and  the  bullocks  about, 
and  find  the  road  to  Wangford  as  well  as  ye  can  : 
Humphrey  knows  the  country,  and  he  will  guide  ye 
to  get  to  Blitheburgh  by  that  roundabout  way,  ye 
poltroons,  unless  ye  choose  to  stay  where  ye  are  till 
I  am  a  Cardinal,  when  it  is  my  intention  to  build  a 
bridge  over  this  sweet  stream,  to  prevent  other 


214  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

travelers  from  incurring  the  peril  which  I  have  done 
in  endeavoring  to  ford  such  a  bottomless  abyss  ot 
mud/' 

We  will  not  follow  the  young  bachelor  to  Blithe- 
burgh,  where,  doubtless,  he  met  with  agreeable  en- 
tertainment, nor  will  the  limits  of  our  tale  admit  of 
our  tracing  the  progressive  steps  by  which  he  in  the 
sequel  attained  to  the  eminence  to  which  his  ambi- 
tion, even  in  childhood,  prompted  him  to  aspire. 
By  keeping  his  attention  constantly  fixed  on  this 
object,  he  found  it  at  last  within  his  reach  ;  but  was 
he  then  contented  ?  Let  me  answer  this  question 
with  another — When  was  the  desire  of  human  great- 
ness ever  satisfied  ?  I  refer  the  juvenile  reader  to 
the  history  of  this  extraordinary  man,  who,  when  he 
had  attained  the  coveted  rank  of  Cardinal,  though 
he  was  burdened  with  the  cares  of  the  prime  minis- 
ter of  England,  which  office  he  held  during  twenty 
years  of  Henry  the  Eighth's  reign,  was  not  forgetful 
of  his  promise  of  building  a  bridge  over  the  stream 
which  had  so  nearly  proved  fatal  to  himself.  The 
name  of  the  bridge,  and  the  local  tradition  thereunto 
belonging,  will  long,  I  trust,  exist  to  preserve  the 
memory  of  an  action  of  pure  benevolence  to  future 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  215 


TALE   OF  THE  THKEE  SPINNEKS. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  lazy  maiden, 
who  would  not  spin  ;  and  her  mother  might  say 
what  she  pleased,  yet  could  not  persuade  her  to  it. 
But  at  last  anger  and  impatience  overcame  the 
mother,  and  she  gave  her  a  blow,  at  which  she 
began  to  weep  loudly.  Just  at  that  time,  the  queen 
rode  by  in  a  carriage,  and  stopping  when  she  heard 
the  weeping,  asked  the  mother  why  she  was  beating 
her  daughter  so  hard,  that  one  without  could  plainly 
hear  the  blows.  But  the  woman  was  ashamed  to 
disclose  the  indolence  of  her  daughter,  and  said  : 
"  I  cannot  prevent  her  from  spinning  ;  she  will  spin 
forever  and  ever  ;  and  I  am  so  poor,  that  I  cannot 
procure  the  flax/'  Then  the  queen  said  :  "  There 
is  nothing  that  I  delight  in  so  much  as  spinning, 
and  am  never  so  happy  as  when  I  see  the.  wheel 
whirl  round  ;  permit  me  to  take  your  daughter  to 
my  castie,  where  I  have  plenty  of  flax  ;  she  shall 
then  spin  as  much  as  she  pleases."  The  mother 
consented  with  all  her  heart,  and  the  queen  took 
away  the  maiden.  When  they  had  come  to  the 
castle,  she  conducted  her  up  to  three  chambers, 
which  were  full  of  the  finest  flax  from  top  to  bottom. 
"  Now  spin  me  this  flax,"  said  she,  "  and  when  you 
have  got  it  done,  you  shall  have  my  eldest  son  for  a 
husband  ;  though  you  are  poor,  yet  I  won't  mind 


216 


E  R  R  Y'S  BOOK  OF 


TALE    OF    THE    THREE    SPINNERS. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  217 

that ;  you*  unwiaried  industry  is  dowry  enough." 
The  maiden  was  inwardly  frightened,  as  she  knew 
that  she  could  not  spin  the  flax  even  if  she  lived  to 
the  age  of  three  hundred,  and  sat  at  it  all  day  from 
morning  till  night.  As  she  was  now  alone,  she  be- 
gan to  weep,  and  sat  so  three  days  without  stirring. 
On  the  third  day,  the  queen  came,  and  when  she 
saw  that  she  had  done  nothing,  she  was  surprised  ; 
but  the  maiden  excused  herself  by  saying  that  she 
had  not  yet  been  able  to  commence  her  work,  in 
consequence  of  her  great  sadness  occasioned  by  her 
removal  from  her  mother.  The  queen  put  up  with 
it,  but  said,  on  going  away  :  "  In  the  morning  you 
must  begin  to  work  for  me  " 

Now  when  the  maiden  was  all  alone,  she  was  at  a 
perfect  loss  to  know  what  to  do,  and  went  sadly  up 
to  the  window.  There  she  saw  three  women  coming 
toward  her,  of  whom  the  first  had  a  huge  flat  foot ; 
the  second  had  a  monstrous  under-lip,  that  hung 
down  over  her  chin,  and  the  third  had  a  great 
thumb.  As  she  remained  there  sorrowfully,  they 
stood  still,  cried  out,  and  asked  the  maiden  what 
ailed  her.  When  she  complained  of  her  trouble, 
they  offered  their  assistance  to  her,  and  said  :  "  If 
you  will  invite  us  to  the  wedding-feast,  and  not  be 
ashamed  to  call  us  your  aunts,  and  moreover  give  us 
a  seat  at  your  table,  we  will  spin  your  flax  for  you, 
and  that,  too,  in  a  very  short  time."  "  With  all  my 
heart/**  she  replied  ;  "  only  come  in  and  set  to  work 


218  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

quickly/  Then  she  let  the  three  grange  women  in, 
and  concealed  them  in  the  first  chamber,  where  they 
might  sit  down  and  begin  their  spinning.  One  drew 
out  the  thread  and  trod  the  wheel ;  the  second  knit 
it ;  the  third  twisted  it,  and  beat  with  her  fingers 
on  the  table,  and  as  often  as  she  beat,  there  fell  to 
the  floor  a  skein  of  yarn,  which  was  spun  in  the  finest 
manner.  She  concealed  the  spinners  from  the  queen, 
and  showed  to  her  as  often  as  she  came,  the  quantity 
of  yarn  spun,  so  that  she  received  continual  praise. 
When  the  first  chamber  was  emptied,  they  came  to 
the  second,  and  finally  to  the  third,  and  that  was  at 
last  finished.  Now  the  three  women  took  leave,  and 
said  to  the  maiden  :  "  Do  not  forget  what  you  have 
promised  us — it  will  be  your  fortune. " 

When  the  maiden  pointed  out  to  the  queen  the 
empty  chambers,  and  the  great  heaps  of  yarn,  she 
made  preparations  for  the  wedding- feast ;  and  the 
bridegroom  rejoiced  that  he  was  to  have  so  skillful 
and  industrious  a  wife,  and  was  exceedingly  pleased. 

"  I  have  three  aunts,"  said  the  maiden,  "  who 
have  shown  me  a  great  deal  of  kindness  ;  therefore 
I  would  not  willingly  forget  them  in  my  good  for- 
tunes ;  give  me  permission,  pray,  to  invite  them  to 
the  wedding,  and  seat  them*  at  the  table."  The 
queen  and  the  bridegroom  readily  granted  her  re- 
quest. When  the  feast  began,  the  three  spinners 
entered  in  a  strange  costume,  and  the  bride  said  : 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  dear  aunts."  "  0,"  said 


TALES     AND     WONDERS. 


219 


the  bridegroom,   "how  did  you  come  by  such  ugly 
relatives  ?"     Then  he   went  to  the  first  with  the 


SPINNING. 


220 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


huge  flat  foot,  and  said  :  "  How  did  you  get  such  a 
monstrous  foot  ?"  "  By  treading,"  she  replied, 
"  by  treading/'  Then  he  came  to  the  second,  also, 
and  said  :  "  Do  tell  me  how  you  got  that  huge 
under  lip  ?"  "  By  wetting  the  thread,"  she  replied, 
"  by  wetting  the  thread."  Then  he  said  to  the 
third  :  "  How  did  you  get  your  great  thumb  ?" 
"  By  twisting  the  thread,"  she  replied,  "  by  twisting 
the  thread."  And  the  king's  son  was  frightened, 
and  said :  "  Then  my  dear  bride  shall  never  again 
touch  a  wheel."  Thus  she  got  rid  of  the  disagree- 
able task  of  spinning  flax. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  221 


buMElBODY    NOT    PLEASED    WITH    HIS 
NAME. 


HERE  lived,  many  long  years  ago,  a 
man  called  Somebody,  and  there  was 
nothing  which  he  disliked  so  much 
as  this  name.     "All  the  misfortunes  I  have 

,}  met  with  in  the  world  are  entirely  owing  to  my 

J  name,"  he  was  wont  to  say  ;  "  and  if  I  could 
but  get  a  rich  estate  by  so  doing,  I  would  part  with 
it  directly  ;  for  there  always  must  be  Somebody  for 
people  to  scold  when  they  are  in  a  bad  temper — 
Somebody  whom  they  can  laugh  at  or  persecute. 

"  There  is  not  even  a  children's  party  where  Some- 
body is  not  teased  or  annoyed.  They  are  sure  to 
make  a  laughing-stock  of  Somebody.  Somebody 
always  comes  badly  off,  when  fruit  and  cakes  are  di- 
vided ;  and  when  the  children  have  grown  up  into 
sensible  people,  it  is  not  much  better.  Go  to  a  tea- 
party,  and  see  if  Somebody  is  not  pulled  over  the 
coals  a  little,  if  Somebody  is  not  blamed,  or  if  some 
evil  is  not  spoken  of  him. 

"  Is  there  any  hard  work  to  be  done,  and  no  one 
has  any  inclination  to  set  about  it,  Somebody  must 


222  MERRY'S    BOOK    OP 

do  it.  Is  anything  broken  in  the  house,  Somebody 
must  have  done  it.  Does  anything  come  to  light 
which  ought  to  have  been  kept  a  secret,  Somebody 
must  have  let  it  out ;  and  if  any  foolish  prank  is 
set  on  foot,  Somebody  is  sure  to  be  the  sufferer." 

And,  therefore,  as  Somebody  was  exposed  to  so 
much  injustice,  and  had  to  bear  so  much  that  was 
disagreeable,  he  took  quite  a  dislike  to  his  name, 
and  determined  to  give  another  to  his  only  child — a 
beautiful,  lively  boy — hoping  that  he  might  not  ex- 
perience the  same  annoyance.  "  He  shall  be  called 
Nobody,"  said  he!  "  He  will  not  be  much  talked 
about,  and  people  will  leave  him  to  himself.  No- 
body is  safe  from  slanderers.  Proud  people  are  po- 
lite to  Nobody  ;  and  I  have  always  heard  that  the 
stingy  are  generous  to  Nobody." 

And  so  Somebody's  child  was  christened  Nobody — 
a  very  lucky  idea,  as  it  seemed,  for  not  long  afterward 
dear  "Nobody"  was  spoken'of  on  all  sides,  and  the. 
child  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  make  his  fortune  in 
the  world.  His  father,  however,  did  not  live  to  see 
it.  One  day  the  funeral  bell  tolled,  and  people  said, 
carelessly,  Somebody  is  dead.  Nobody  followed  the 
coffin  ;  Nobody  wept  very  bitterly — so  is  it  almost 
always  when  the  poor  and  unfortunate  die  ! 

And  now  the  child  was  quite  alone.  He  went 
away  from  the  churchyard,  and  along  the  high  road 
without  exactly  knowing  what  would  become  of 
him.  At  length  he  came  to  a  beautiful  garden,  in 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  223 

which  fountains,  stone  statues,  an  aviary,  and  a  tame 
ape  were  to  be  seen  ;  hut  before  the  garden  was  a 
cast-iron  gate,  with  black  rails,  having  a  bar,  fastened 
tightly,  drawn  in  front. 

"  Who  is  allowed  to  come  in  here  ?"  asked  the 
child,  of  a  brisk  little  gardener-boy,  who  happened 
to  pass  by  with  a  basketful  of  beautiful  melons. 

'"Nobody,"  answered  he,  which  reply  gave  our 
little  boy  no  small  delight. 

Without  allowing  himself  much  time  for  reflection 
he  climbed  nimbly  over  the  iron-gate  rails,  and 
jumped  down,  without  hurting  himself,  into  the 
deep  white  sand.  Who  now  could  be  better  off  than 
he? 

Nobody  might  walk  on  the  green  velvet  turf; 
Nobody  might  break  off  a  flower  if  he  wished — at 
least  so  it  was  stated,  in  large  letters,  upon  the 
boards  which  were  erected  in  various  parts  of  the 
garden  ;  so  he  made  himself  very  comfortable,  and 
laid  himself  down  in  the  cool  shade,  under  a  tree, 
close  by  the  splashing  fountains,  while  he  refreshed 
himself  with  a  few  oranges,  which  he  had  gathered 
as  he  passed  through  a  forcing-house.  "  I  have  free 
entrances  everywhere  here,"  thought  he  ;  "  and  all 
seems  made  for  me,  as  it  were.  I  will  not  be 
squeamish  ;  I  wish  I  could  see  the  kind  owner  of 
this  garden,  and  thank  him  for  his  goodness." 

When  he  had  rested  sufficiently,  and  had  quench- 
ed his  thirst  with  the  beautiful  juicy  fruit,  the  child 


224  MERRY'S  BOOK  OF 

rose  up  once  more,  and  wandered  still  farther  and 
farther  into  the  garden.  With  every  step  he  discov- 
ered fresh  beauties  ;  the  flowers  at  length  became 
less  numerous,  and  he  reached  a  wide,  open  square, 
in  which  stood  a  castle — not  so  very  spacious,  per- 
haps, but  so  splendid,  that  the  poor  boy's  eyes, 
heavy  with  weeping,  were  opened  quite  widely  to 
look  at  it. 

He  had  never  till  then  seen  so  handsome  a  win- 
dow, or  so  wide  a  balcony.  Flowers  and  climbing 
plants  covered  the  latter,  above  which  a  canopy  of 
purple  silk  was  extended.  And  wonderingly  he 
gazed  at  the  elaborately  carved  columns  which,  ap- 
parently, supported  the  beautiful  edifice.  A  pair  of 
chattering  parrots  were  swinging  to  and  fro,  in  their 
metal  rings,  among  the  flowers,  and  called  out  with 
hoarse  voices,  "  Who  is  there  ?"  "  Who  are  you  ?" 

The  little  fellow  took  his  cap  off  quickly,  looking 
very  red  and  frightened,  and  answered — "  Pray  for- 
give my  having  come  in  here  ;  I  do  not  wish  to  dis- 
turb you,  and  will  go  away  again.  My  name  is  No- 
body, and  I  am  Somebody's  son." 

Having  modestly  answered  the  parrots,  the  little 
boy  determined  upon  retracing  his  steps,  only  that 
he  first  wished  to  know  to  whom  this  wonderful 
castle  belonged.  He  next  discovered  at  the  entrance, 
a  smart-looking  little  man,  seated  in  a  kind  of  glass- 
case,  seriously  occupied  in  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
a  book  in  which  were  written  the  names  of  all  visi- 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  225 

tors  to  the  castle.  And  there,  indeed,  he  might  sit 
and  wait  for  a  long  while,  without  having  much  to 
write  in  it,  for  the  barred  gate  was  a  hindrance  to 
every  one. 

To  this  little  man,  who  was  very  gaily  and  neatly 
dressed,  and  still  wore  the  old-fashioned  powdered 
queue,  our  young  gentleman  commenced  bowing  and 
scraping  all  the  way  as  he  advanced  toward  him  ; 
and  then,  with  becoming  deference,  addressed  him 
with,  "  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  who  lives  in  this 
beautiful  castle  ?" 

"Nobody  1"  answered  the  little  man,  with  a  con- 
temptuous glance  at  the  diminutive  questioner, 
whose  poverty-stricken  garments  were  certainly  not 
very  suitable  in  the  vicinity  of  such  a  wonderful  cas- 
tle. And  having  given  this  short,  unfriendly  an- 
swer, went  on  with  his  book  as  seriously  as  if  he  had 
the  weightiest  affairs  to  settle. 

"  So,  then,  I  am  to  live  here,"  thought  our  little 
one  in  much  astonishment.  "  Well,  I  can  make 
myself  very  happy,  although  I  should  certainly  like 
to  know  who  it  is  who  is  so  kindly  disposed  toward 
me." 

And  with  this  he  passed  quietly  by  the  doorkeep- 
er's glass  lodge,  without  causing  him  to  look  up 
from  his  book,  and  ascended  the  broad  marble  steps, 
upon  each  side  of  which  stood  beautiful  statues  as 
large  as  life.  Thinking  that  they  were  a  number 
of  men  and  women  also  living  in  the  spacious  castle, 


226  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

he  took  off  his  hat  to  every  one  as  he  passed,  and 
felt  very  angry  that  they  did  not  acknowledge  his 
politeness.  He  next  entered  a  splendid  saloon,  the 
floor  of  which  was  smooth  and  polished  as  a  mirror, 
and  our  friend  soon  began  to  slide  about  right  and  left. 

Being  afraid  of  falling,  he  seated  himself  in  a  soft- 
ly-padded rocking-chair ;  but  scarcely  had  he  sat 
down  than  it  began  to  swing  backward  and  forward, 
so  that  the  poor  child  was  almost  sea-sick,  and  sei- 
zed hold  of  a  cord  hanging  down  the  side  of  the  wall. 
All  at  once  the  clear  sound  of  a  bell  rang  through 
the  room,  and  servants  with  bewildered  faces  rushed 
in  from  the  three  doors,  breathlessly  inquiring  "who 
had  rung  the  bell  ?" 

As  soon  as  they  caught  sight  of  the  equally  aston- 
ished boy  in  his  shabby  clothes,  whose  chair  was  still 
rocking  backward  and  forward,  with  a  face  looking 
green,  yellow,  and  all  colors,  they  all  rushed  angrily 
upon  him,  and  threatened  to  beat  him  out  of  the 
castle  for  disturbing  their  repose. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me,  then  ?"  asked  the 
little  one,  frankly.  "  I  am  to  live  in  this  castle,  and 
have  therefore  a  right  to  be  here.  Only  just  ask  the 
porter — he  will  tell  you  so.  I  am  called  Nobody,  and 
you  may  as  well  bring  me  something  to  eat,  for  I  am 
hungry." 

The  attendants  ran  down  to  inquire  if  they  were 
really  to  wait  upon  Nobody,  and  if  the  cook  was  to 
cook  for  Nobody. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  227 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  little  man,  with  great  dig- 
nity. "  So  long  as  you  are  in  this  castle  you  will 
serve  Nobody  as  your  gracious  master,  and  the  cook 
shall  cook  for  Nobody.  Whoever  acts  in  opposition 
to  this  command  will  be  dismissed  on  the  spot." 

So  the  servants  went  back  shaking  their  heads, 
and  were  now  as  humble  and  subservient  to  the  lit- 
tle fellow  as  they  had  before  been  rude  and  angry. 
First  of  all  he  made. them  help  him  out  of  the  rock- 
ing-chair, and  then  they  brought  him  the  most 
dainty  dishes  they  could  find  ;  for  the  porter  had 
told  them,  you  know,  that  they  were  to  serve  No*- 
body  as  their  gracious  master ;  and  none  of  them 
wished  to  disobey  this  order,  for  fear  of  losing  a  good 
place. 

Their  master  rarely  came  to  the  castle  more  than 
once  in  the  course  of  years.  "  There  must  Le  some- 
thing singular  about  this  child,"  they  said  to  each 
other,  and  treated  the  little  visitor  as  if  he  had  been 
a  prince.  He  ate  well,  drank  well,  and  finished  with 
sleeping  well  in  his  silken  bed. 

The  next  morning  the  servants  brought  him  a 
tailor,  who  inquired  most  deferentially  whether  he 
might  make  him  some  new  clothes.  He  was  very 
glad  to  give  him  permission,  and  allowed  Master 
Threadpaper  to  measure  him  as  much  as  he  liked 
for  coat  and  frock-coat,  waistcoat,  and  trowsers  and 
dressing-gown. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  he  brought  with  him 


228  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

a  whole  stock  of  clothes  from  his  warehouse,  all  of 
so  fine  a  quality,  and  so  beautiful,  that  our  hero 
scarcely  recognized  himself  when  he  looked  at  him- 
self in  the  mirror. 

But  next  came  a  bad  moment  for  the  lucky  one, 
for  Master  Threadpaper  seemed  to  expect  payment. 
"  Nobody  has  money  now — Nobody  will  pay  me," 
^aid  he,  turning  to  the  servants  ;  but  the  little  one 
heard  it  well,  and  all  at  once  the  lofty  and  spacious 
saloon  became  too  small  for  him.  "  Oh,  if  I  were 
but  once  away  from  here  \"  thought  he  ;  and  before 
any  one  in  the  castle  had  noticed  it,  he  had  crept 
down  the  wide  marble  steps,  past  the  doorkeeper, 
who,  not  recognizing  the  well-dressed  boy,  politely 
took  off  his  hat  to  him,  and  inquired  his  name, 
which  he  entered  in  his  book  with  the  utmost  gravity. 

Meanwhile  the  little  one  stole  cautiously  through 
the  garden,  over  the  iron  gate,  and,  thanks  to  his 
tolerably  swift  feet,  was  soon  at  a  distance  from  the 
wonderful  castle.  No  sooner  did  he  feel  safe,  than 
he  began  to  reflect  upon  what  he  should  do  next. 
"  Ah,"  thought  he,  "  if  that  tailor  had  never  made 
his  appearance,  I  might  have  remained  in  that  lovely 
castle  for  the  rest  of  my  life  !" 

Having  reached  a  strange  village,  he  paused  out- 
side the  second  house,  and  listened  : 

"  M-o-u-B-e — mouse  ;  h-o-u-s-e — house  !"  was 
echoecU  through  the  open  windows  from  a  room  full 
of  children. 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  229 

"  Eh  !  that  must  be  a  school/'  thought  the  boy  ; 
and  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  father  had  often  said 
that  everybody  must  go  to  school  who  meant  to  be 
of  any  use  in  the  world.  So  he  took  heart,  and  went 
in.  He  tapped  modestly  at  the  door,  and  the  school- 
master sent  a  child  to  see  who  it  was,  and  what  was 
wanted. 

"  Mr.  Schoolmaster,  Nobody  is  outside/'  was  the 
answer  brought  back. 

"  Well,  then,  sit  down  quietly  in  your  place," 
said  the  master,  and  continued  teaching  the  little 
ones  upon  the  phonetic  system. 

Our  young  friend,  meanwhile,  stood  outside  in  the 
passage,  waiting  and  waiting. 

At  last  the  child  who  had  returned  to  his  form, 
where  the  master  bade  him,  ventured  to  say,  "  With 
your  leave,  teacher,  Nobody  wishes  to  come  to 
school." 

The  schoolmaster  was  one  of  the  hasty  kind  ;  and 
as  he  put  quite  another  construction  upon  the  child's 
words  to  what  had  been  intended,  he  let  his  birch- 
rod  fall  with  tolerable  weight  upon  the  back  and 
shoulders  of  the  little  speaker. 

Our  little  one  outside  in  the  passage  lost  almost  all 
desire  for  a  visit  to  the  school,  and  yet  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  learn  something  ;  so  he  took  courage, 
went  into  the  school- room,  represented  his  wish  to  the 
master,  and  told  him  his  name.  • 

"  Well,  we  will  try  for  once  how  we  can  get  on 


230  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

together,"  answered  the  schoolmaster,  with  some 
kindness  ;  just  sit  down  helow  upon  that  form,  and 
give  all  your  attention  to  what  is  going  on  at  first." 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  ordered,  and  looked  at  the 
great  picture-alphabet  with  all  attention,  but  with- 
out understanding  anything  about  it.  It  did  not 
last  very  long,  for  the  children  began  pelting  each 
other  with  unripe  fruit,  and  laughing,  as  soon  as  the 
school-master  had  turned  his  back  upon  them. 

He  came  angrily  to  the  table  where  the  culprits 
were  sitting. 

"  Who  has  been  throwing  fruit  ?  Who  has  been 
laughing  ?"  asked  he  sternly,  with  a  threatening 
frown. 

"  Nobody  !"  exclaimed  six  or  eight  voices  with 
one  mouth  ;  and  the  schoolmaster,  without  more 
ado,  seized  our  frightened  little  one  by  the  ears,  and 
shook  him  severely,  as  he  pushed  him  somewhat 
roughly  out  of  the  room. 

"  That  was  soon  settled,"  thought  the  maligned 
one,  as  he  dried  his  eyes,  and  slunk  away  sadly. 

He  came  to  a  heap  of  rubbish,  where  several  chil- 
dren were  playing.  He  sat  down,  and  joined  them 
in  building  cellars  and  vaults,  steps  and  fountains. 
They  were  all  very  merry  and  happy  together,  when 
an  ugly  old  woman  suddenly  came  hobbling  out  of 
the  neighboring  cottage  before  which  the  children 
were  playing,  with  a  crutch  in  her  hand,  and  calling 
out  as  she  drew  near — "  Only  just  wait,  you  naughty 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  231 

children,  you  shall  not  mess  about  with  that  sand 
for  nothing.  I  will  teach  you  to  play  before  other 
people's  doors." 

So  saying,  she  stopped,  swinging  her  crutch  right 
before  the  children,  who  would  gladly  have  run  out 
of  her  way. 

"  Ah  !  Mother  Hartman,  we  will  not  play  any 
more  on  your  dust-heap — we  beg  of  you  to  beat  No- 
body." 

The  poor  little  fellow  did  not  know  why  it  was 
that  these  children  with  whom  he  had  just  been 
playing  so  merrily  had  begged  the  old  woman  to 
beat  him.  He  was  ready  to  cry  at  their  great  un- 
kindness  ;  and  more  sadly  than  ever  he  went  on  his 
road  through  the  village  in  which  he  had  been  so 
badly  treated. 

In  the  fields  beyond  he  laid  himself  down,  under 
a  thorn-hedge,  tired  and  hungry,  but  without  the 
courage  to  speak  to  any  one,  or  beg  for  anything  ; 
so  he  sat  under  the  great  branches,  and  wept  bitterly. 

A  great  many  people  were  busy  in  the  fields,  hay- 
making ;  they  sang  and  joked,  and  were  very  merry 
over  their  work,  without  noticing  the  child.  All  at 
once,  along  the  high  road,  came  a  horseman  with 
slackened  rein.  He  dismounted,  and  coming  into 
the  meadow  where  the  people  were  singing,  he  held 
his  horse  while  inquiring  if  they  had  chanced  to  find 
a  pocket-book  on  the  road. 

"  I  lost  it  an  hour  ago,  somewhere  about  here,  and 
there  are  some  very  important  papers  in  it." 


232  MERRY'S   BOOK   OF 

"  Nobody  had  seen  a  pocket-book,  Nobody  had  pick- 
ed it  up/'  the  honest  country  people  declared,  and 
leaving  their  work,  set  about  helping  the  rider  to 
look  for  it. 

Our  little  friend  under  the  hawthorn  thought  that 
they  were  searcfyng  for  him,  and  crept  eagerly  into 
the  ditch  till  they  could  no  longer  see  him.  He  did 
not  know  how  he  should  produce  the  pocket-book, 
however  gladly  he  would  have  done  so. 

It  was  already  getting  dark,  and  his  tired  feet 
could  scarcely  bear  him  from  the  spot.  At  last  he 
reached  a  lonely  farm-house,  where  he  intended  beg- 
ging a  piece  of  bread  and  a  night's  lodging.  As  he 
tremblingly  stepped  into  the  farm-yard,  he  heard  an 
angry  dispute  from  the  ground-floor  of  the  dwelling. 
It  was  a  woman's  voice  entreating  : 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  public-house  again,  my  dear 
husband  ;  things  are  bad  enough  without  that.  We 
have  so  many  debts,  and  you  gamble  away  our  last 
penny  at  the  card-table.  Do  but  think  of  me  and 
your  children  I" 

The  husband  answered,  angrily  : 

"  I  make  no  promises,  and  will  put  up  with  no 
reproaches.  Nobody  will  help  me  !  Nobody  will 
pay  my  debts  !" 

Our  little  one  waited  no  longer.  He  ran  away  as 
fast  as  he  could,  farther  and  farther,  till  he  came  to 
a  dark  wood — to  the  birds  and  squirrels,  to  the 
cockchafers  and  tree-frogs,  who  did  not  know  his 


TALES    AND    STORIES.  233 

name.  There  he  sits  to-day — ever — no  longer 
daring  to  come  among  men.  You  have  only  to  go 
some  day  and  look  ;  you  will  find  Nobody  there  ! 


TUEK1SH  TITLES. 

d  FT1HE  Sublime  Porte"  is  the  official  title  of  the 
J.  Government  of  the  Ottoman  Empire,  and 
not  the  title  of  any  officer  of  the  Government,  as 
many  suppose  it  to  be. 

The  Ottoman  Emperor  is  called  Sultan,  or  Grand 
Sultan,  or  Grand  Seignior,  according  to  the  fancy 
of  the  person  speaking  or  writing. 

Pacha  is  the  Governor  of  a  province,  and  accord- 
ing to  the  importance  of  his  province,  he  is  distin- 
guished by  one,  or  two,  or  three  tails.  A  Pacha 
with  three  tails  has  the  power  to  punish  with  death 
any  agent  whom  he  employs,  or  any  individual  who 
seems  to  threaten  the  general  safety. 

Bey  is  a  sub-governor  under  the  Pacha. 

The  Divan  is  the  Council  of  State,  and  consists 
of  the  principal  ministers. 

Cadi,  is  a  sort  of  judge  or  justice  of  the  peace. 
To  order  the  bastinado  on  common  people,  to  im- 
pose a  fine  on  a  yich  Greek  or  European,  to  con- 
demn a  thief  to  be  hanged,  is  about  all  the  duty  of 
an  ordinary  Cadi. 


234 


MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


THE  OLD  ENGLISH  VILLAGE   PASTOR. 


"  E'en  children  followed  with  endearing  smile, 

And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile." 

SUCH  was  the  village  pastor  in  England,  who 
wore  a  long  black  robe  or  gown,  and  white  linen 
bands  about  his  neck,  when  he  was  in  the  church. 

A  poet  has  told  us  of  one  of  these  who  lived  many 
years  ago.  Everybody  loved  him  ;  he  listened  to 
everybody's  troubles,  and  always  helped  them  if  he 
could  ;  and  considered  himself  rich  with  "  forty 
pounds  a  year/'  (not  far  from  two  hundred  dollars.) 
All  the  poor  knew  his  house,  and  were  sure  of  being 
treated  kindlv  there. 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  235 

How  pleasant  to  see  the  children,  as  he  comes  out 
of  the  church  door,  gather  around  him  and  get  hold 
of  his  hand  for  love  to  him,  for  often  he  would  draw 
them  to  his  knee  and  his  lap  for  pleasant  talk  !  Years 
and  years  he  lived  in  the  same  place — scarcely  ever 
thought  of  going  away,  but  only  of  being  and  doing 
good.  You  will  say  this  is  being  like  your  own 
•pastors,  for  I  trust  you  have  all  good  ones. 

In  this  country,  many  years  ago,  they  lived  longer 
in  the  same  place  than  they  do  now.  Great-great- 
grandmothers  could  tell  you  of  pastors  or  ministers 
who  lived  through  three  generations  in  the  same 
place.  One  village  pastor  in  New  England  (and 
many  did  the  same)  married  the  daughter  (per- 
formed the  marriage  ceremony)  of  one  of  his  people  ; 
then  baptized  her  child  ;  then  married  her  (the 
oliild,  when  grown,)  and  baptized  her  child — three 
generations  of  them.  That  was  before  everybody 
went  "'West." 

Fathers,  and  children,  arid  grandchildren  all 
stayed  in  one  place,  as  well  as  the  pastor,  in  those 
times. 

The  village  schoolmaster  was  next  to  the  pastor 
in  importance.  He  used  in  old  times  to  dress  very 
carefully,  carried  a  cane,  and  was  very  dignified  in 
his  manners.  When,  in  his  walks,  he  came  where 
some  who  were  his  pupils  a  year  or  two  ago,  but 
now  grown  up  and  enjoying  pastimes  in  the  fields, 
or  chatting  under  the  hawthorn  or  elm-tree,  he 


236  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 

would  make  the  most  stately  bow,  and  inquire  after 
the  health  of  Emily  and  Julius,  and  so  on.  Then 
the  young  woman,  Emily,  would  blush  and  drop  her 
eyes,  with  the  old  feeling  that  she  used  to  have,  in 
the  presence  of  "  the  master,"  who  in  those  days 
used 

"  Words  of  learned  length,  and  thundering  sound." 

It  is  all  right  to  have  a  very  great  respect  for 
teachers,  and  every  rule  they  make  should  be  im- 
plicitly obeyed  ;  for  a  good  teacher  will  make  none 
but  good  ones. 

Mr.  Livingstone,  one  of  these  schoolmasters  with 
the  "cocked  hat,"  was  a  very  kind-hearted  man, 
but  very  strict  in  his  school.  He  always  punished 
any  misbehavior  among  his  pupils  in  a  way  of  his 
own. 

One  day  Letty  Meed  bent  her  head  upon  her 
desk,  and  ate  from  some  fruit,  during  school  noun? ; 
this,  of  course,  was  misconduct.  Mr.  Livingstone 
was  sitting  upon  a  high  seat,  quite  across  the  room, 
listening  to  a  recitation.  Without  looking  toward 
Letty,  or  even  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  text-book, 
he  said  distinctly — 0  how  distinctly — Letty  thought 
every  word  rang  : 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  ostrich,  when  she  is 
frightened  ;  she  sticketh  her  head  in  the  wall,  and 
thinketh  she  is  secure." 

That  was  every  word  he  said  ;  he  spoke  no  name. 
Then  he  went  on  with  the  class  recitation.  Letty 


TALES     AND     STORIES.  237 

smarted  as  if  under  a  whip  ;  and  as  she  lifted  her 
scarlet  face,  every  scholar  saw  that  she  was  the  cul- 
prit— her  cheeks  made  the  confession  ;  and  you  may 
be  sure  she  never  needed  Mr.  Livingstone's  re^- 
mand  again. 


THE    PASTOR   LISTENING 


238  MERRY'S    BOOK    OF 


LIZZIE    IN    THE    CARDEN 


TALES     ANDSTORIES.  239 


A  WARNING. 

THERE  was  once  a  little  girl  named  Lizzy,  who 
had  a  habit  of  disobeying  her  mother,  and,  as 
she  was  very  careless,  she  did  many  mischievous 
things. 

In  consequence  of  all  this,  the  mother  had  given 
her  m&ny  serious  lessons,  and  had  warned  her  of  the 
dangers  of  her  misconduct.  But  Lizzy  was  very 
self-willed,  and  was  resolved  to  have  her  own  way. 
Alas  !  how  severely  was  she  punished  for  her  folly 
and  disobedience  ! 

One  day  Lizzy  was  playing  with  some  of  her  lit- 
tle friends,  and  in  order  to  carry  on  the  play,  she 
lighted  a  candle.  This  had  been  positively  forbid- 
den by  her  mother,  for  several  accidents  had  hap- 
pened in  consequence  of  Lizzy's  playing  with  fire. 
However,  the  undutiful  child  would  follow  her  own 
wishes.  Soon  after  she  had  lighted  the  candle,  she 
thought  she  heard  her  mother's  step.  She  there- 
fore set  the  candle  behind  the  bed,  to  keep  it  out  of 
sight. 

After  a  while  she  forgot  the  light,  and  went  into 
the  garden  with  her  young  companions.  What  was 
her  horror,  soon  after,  to  hear  the  cry  of  fire,  and  to 
feel  sure  that  the  candle  was  the  cause  of  it  !  She 
rushed  to  the  house,  but  all  was  a  scene  of  terror 


240  MERRY'S    BOOK    OP 

and  confusion.  Her  mother  and  little  sister  had 
scarce  time  to  escape  from  the  flames. 

The  house  was  indeed  reduced  to  ashes,  and 
Lizzy's  father  and  mother,  for  some  years,  had  many 
cares  and  sufferings  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of 
their  home.  This  was  a  terrible  lesson  to  Lizzy, 
and  indeed  it  Bought  to  be  a  warning  to  all  thought- 
less and  undutiful  children.  Fathers  and  mothers 
are  made  the  guardians  of  their  offspring  by  God 
himself,  and  these  are  told  by  the  solemn  command- 
ment, to  honor  and  obey  their  parents. 

Indeed,  obedience  to  parents  ought  not  to  be  felt 
as  a  duty  only  :  no  child's  heart  is  right  till  it  loves 
obedience,  and  finds  a  high  pleasure  and  enjoyment 
in  fulfilling  the  injunctions  and  wishes  of  those  who 
have  brought  it  into  life. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 


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